The Memory of Kites
by arainymonday
Summary: Cassie Fraiser wants to forget about bacterial plagues, naquadah bombs, and genetic experiments, but is dragged back into the world of secret organizations when Richard Woolsey decides he needs an assistant with a law degree and high security clearance.
1. Impression, Sunrise

**Disclaimer:** None of these characters belong to me. I'm just playing in the Stargate sandbox.  
**Established Ships:** Jack/Sam, Daniel/Janet, Daniel/Vala, Rodney/Jennifer  
**Timeline:** Begins three months after "Enemy at the Gates"  
**Spoilers:** All of SG-1 and SGA

* * *

**THE MEMORY OF KITES**

**CHAPTER ONE  
IMPRESSION, SUNRISE**

Kites.

Cassandra Fraiser dreamed of running through a meadow of knee high grass with a heavy string in hand and a kite trailing behind her. Every four steps she lurched upward, trying to make the kite soar like all the others in the cloudless cerulean sky. Her wood-and-paper creation remained stubbornly earthbound until the blonde woman intervened. She ran forward with long strides, and the pink-and-teal hummingbird-shaped kite took flight. The woman released string from the spool until the bird joined the cranes, doves, sparrows, and diamonds already flying high.

The woman handed over the spool of string to Cassandra, and in her dream, she caught a vision of herself as a young girl. She wore a dress of some pink material and an overcoat of shadowy blue against the morning chill. An expression of purest joy came across her open face when the kite caught the air current and flew. The strong wind whipped her long blonde hair around her head and covered her brown eyes so that the kite blinked in and out of her vision, but the blonde woman's hands gently pushed away the hair and tucked it behind her ears.

Sounds drifted across the meadow. The wind whistled in the hollow reedy grass, and the churning windmills creaked as they worked. Laughter and encouragement carried on the wind so that one child's cry of "Higher!" became the desire of everyone with a kite. Gradually, the bright paper toys rose until they seemed level with the sun, and the children put cricks into their necks trying to keep their eyes on the kites. Then their parents had to lend their strength to control the string.

As the sun crested to noon, the children slowly began to lose interest and reel in their kites. One by one, they departed the meadow for some other game. But not Cassandra. She remained in the meadow, a peaceful smile on her face even as her legs itched from the chaffing reeds and the sun's heat turned her skin sticky against her clothes. She closed her eyes and swayed slightly to the song of the wind. The sunlight painted the inside of her eyelids warm peach, and the soaring kite tugged her arms and thoughts skyward.

o o o

"Cassie."

Samantha Carter regretfully laid one hand on Cassandra's shoulder and shook slightly. Hands working in a furious attempt to bat away the nuisance, the young woman slept on. Sam tried again, a little more insistent in her shaking now.

"It's time to get up, Cass. You've got a big day ahead of you and a lot of people who will be upset if you miss it."

With a muffled groan, Cassandra woke from her recurring dream. Though she rolled over onto her back so Sam would stop jostling her, she kept her eyes closed. The light of sunrise streaming in through the window warmed her skin, and she smiled widely at the familiarity of the peach blaze behind her eyes. She imagined the hummingbird kite and not for the first time wondered how and why her mind had created it. Car horns and the low hum of a metropolitan city ruined the illusion of a peaceful extension of her dream.

Cassandra opened her eyes and peered up at her godmother seated on the edge of the bed. Sam had dressed for the day in a sophisticated gray and white pattern dress that was all wrong for the Chicago weather. Doubtless she had on those monster high heels of hers too, and that made Cassandra hopeful they would take a cab, something she couldn't afford every day. Sam's blonde hair had been pulled back when she arrived yesterday, but it hung down now and had grown even longer than the last time they had seen each other. She suspected it was getting below Air Force regulation length if it hadn't already.

"Up you get. Big day," Sam repeated, and she nudged Cassandra toward the edge of the bed. Threatened with toppling onto the floor, she relented and swung her legs over the side. Grumbling the whole way, she trudged into the tiny box-like bathroom barely three-and-a-half strides from the end of her bed. "I'll get breakfast going."

Standing under the hot pressure of the shower and breathing in the steam revived Cassandra's senses. She thought less of the recurring dream she'd had since she was thirteen and more about the real world. Her last ever graduation day had finally arrived. After three years of demanding course work and sleepless nights writing position papers, today she graduated from law school. Of course, the most harrowing experience – the bar exam – was yet to come, but she tried not to think about that. Instead, she fixed her mind on walking across the stage today and receiving her degree.

Cassandra Fraiser, Juris Doctor.

She smiled at herself Cheshire cat-like in the foggy bathroom mirror as she towel-dried her chin-length blonde hair and clumsily applied the cosmetics on the rim of the sink. She assumed Sam had put it all there since she definitely had never purchased Berry Pink lipstick or the twisted lump of metal she saw women use on their eyelashes in the movies.

When she emerged from the bathroom, more of Sam's handiwork appeared in the form of a well made bed and a garment bag. Cassandra unzipped it hesitantly, her mind working on excuses not to wear the dress. Sam had not been unduly cruel. The garment bag contained, not a dress as she'd feared, but a professional gray pant suit. A pair of heeled dress boots, not exactly her style but not objectionable either, sat next to the bed.

"Breakfast is ready!" Sam called from the next room.

Cassandra dressed hurriedly, fumbled the buttons on the white dress shirt twice, and pulled on the boots. A few tentative, wobbling steps got her in front of the full length mirror. "Not too shabby," she said to her reflection. The other women would look more put together, but they came from business and social science backgrounds where that mattered. Cassandra came from art school; paint splattered jeans and indie band t-shirts had been their fashion preferences.

"See. I knew you'd clean up nicely," Sam said when Cassandra came out of her bedroom. If she noticed her goddaughter had put on the least amount of makeup possible and discarded the dusty pink neck scarf in the garment bag, she said nothing.

"You sound like you took bets." She took one of the two stools at the kitchen counter and started on the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.

"Maybe I did." Sam smiled mischievously. "No one has seen you in nice clothes in years, and more than a few people wondered if you would try to get your diploma in that bad donkey t-shirt you love so much."

Cassandra choked into her orange juice. Her favorite shirt had a picture of a donkey on it with the word 'bad' above. She affectionately called it 'the badass t-shirt.' "Right. Bad _donkey_. Jack is rubbing off on you. What am I saying? He rubbed off on you a long time ago."

Sam beamed her most innocent smile, and Cassandra wondered not for the first time how this woman could command a frontline battlecruiser that saw space combat against the Lucian Alliance at least once a week with a face like hers. The gentle appearance was deceiving, however. Under that classic beauty, Sam was tough as nails, a full bird Colonel and born leader.

"Is anyone else coming? Or are they off world?" Cassandra said 'off world' with a hesitant note in her voice, as if to tell Sam it was fine to answer yes or no, but she wanted no further details.

Sam understood the implied limit. "Daniel and Teal'c should be here any minute, and Jack will meet us at the university. He called this morning to say he has to deal with a situation in Washington, but he wouldn't miss this for the world … or worlds, as the case may be."

While Cassandra went to brush her teeth (and Sam insisted she apply a fresh coat of lipstick), Daniel Jackson and Teal'c arrived. She heard Sam greet them at the door and a round of enthusiastic hugging was ongoing when she came out of the bedroom again.

"I like what you've done with the place," Daniel said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and rocking on his heels. He surveyed the art prints and posters plastered over the 70's era wood-paneled walls and the IKEA furniture with light blue eyes behind square-framed glasses. "It's art student chic."

"Emphasis on the student." Cassandra embraced Daniel and tried to remember all the times they'd shared hugs before. Back when her mom had still been alive, when she thought Daniel would be her dad one day. They separated too soon for the memories to come to life, and she had only the impression he was more muscular now, and she had gained a few inches.

"This is a great day for you, Cassandra, and I thank you for inviting me to share it with you," Teal'c said. He bowed his head in formal respect with his hands clasped behind his back, but then a smile broke, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. It felt like hugging a brick wall for all his muscles and towering height.

"You probably don't need that in Chicago." She motioned to the black fedora that matched his suit. Teal'c removed it, revealing the gold tattoo on his forehead that marked him as a Jaffa, a First Prime. It stood out so vividly against his black skin it was doubly cruel. Chicagoans saw crazier things than gold serpent tattoos, though, just riding the Metra.

"So Daniel Jackson and O'Neill have told me many times, but I do not wish to draw attention on this day. I will wear the hat when we depart." Jack O'Neill, Cassandra's godfather and Lieutenant General in charge of Homeworld Security, had spent his childhood in Chicago. Like her, Daniel had attended the University of Chicago, but his school was archaeology while hers was law.

The tiny apartment felt overcrowded with four people crammed into the hero kitchen and 6' x 6' living room. By mutual agreement, they left the apartment early and took the five flights of stairs down to the sidewalk where Teal'c hailed a cab, something he said he had always wanted to do. Twenty minutes of enduring the cabbie's bat-out-of-hell routine and a small fortune later, they exited the cab at the University of Chicago.

Cassandra left them to find seats on the multitude of white folding chairs set up on the green lawn while she went to go robe up with her classmates. A strong wind off Lake Michigan had kicked up, and Cassandra saw several women struggling with their skirts. She tried not to send them sardonic looks as she passed.

"That's what you get for wearing skirts, right?"

Startled by the sudden voice in her ear, Cassandra jumped and spun around, clutching her chest. A woman a few years younger than herself with straight dark hair pulled into a bun and warm brown eyes smiled impishly at her. She wore a skirt herself, an Air Force uniform with a name badge reading 'Hammond' pinned to it. Cassandra's face cleared, and she let out a whoop of joy.

"Tessa!"

The two women embraced for so long they caused a jam in the hallway. Several of Cassandra's peers pushed by with their robes flying from hangers behind them. They did a double take seeing Tessa's uniform, and a couple offered apologies for their outbursts. Cassandra ignored them all.

"I can't believe you're here! I didn't think you'd have shore leave so soon after being assigned."

Tessa and Cassandra had been friends since they were eleven and thirteen, respectively. General George Hammond, Tessa's grandfather, had decided Cassandra needed a friend to help her adjust to her new life. His solution to have a barbeque and order Captain Doctor Janet Fraiser, then only Cassandra's guardian, to attend had resulted in a fast friendship between the two girls.

"I only have a few hours, but long enough to see you graduate," Tessa explained. "When I told Colonel Caldwell that General O'Neill's goddaughter was graduating law school today, and I was her best friend, he decided it would be the perfect time to send an officer to talk to the General about speeding up the upgrades on _Daedalus_. I figure I'll wait until after the ceremony to shanghai General O'Neill."

Tessa helped Cassandra into her robe and hood. Meanwhile, they chatted about the friends Cassandra had left in Colorado Springs. Tessa's sister Kayla would be coming home from Denver for the summer soon, but of course Tessa wouldn't see her much now that she had graduated from the Air Force Academy and served on the battlecruiser _Daedalus_. Dominic, Cassandra's first boyfriend, had gotten married in March. Other friends' names came up in conversation too. Lisa Carter, Sam's niece, had won a national junior science award, and her nephew David had been accepted at Stanford to study physics.

"So what's next for you, Cassie?"

Cassandra fiddled with her hood absently stalling for time. "Studying for the bar exam, like everyone else. Then, I don't know … interviews at law firms with Intellectual Property divisions. That's what lawyers do with their lives."

A disembodied male voice announced that the students were to begin forming their lines, and Tessa left to go find Sam, Daniel, and Teal'c. After fifteen minutes of jostling, already sweating under their black robes, the graduating class of 2009 filed down the aisle to take their seats for the last time as students.

o o o

After the official ceremony, pockets of family and friends spread out over the campus grounds to congratulate the graduates and snap endless pictures. Cassandra was no different than the rest, although she did not feel the same.

Although the people sharing this day with her felt like family, they were not. Her family had died: her birth parents when the Goa'uld Nirrti released a biological plague, and her adoptive mother in a firefight off world. She was different in more profound ways as well. Cassandra had been intended as a superhuman host, a _hok'taur_, for Nirrti. The aftermath of generations of genetic manipulations had left naquadah in her blood and her very DNA different from Earth humans.

Looking around at the smiling, proud faces of these people who knew nothing of the Goa'uld and the thousands of worlds full of humans they had enslaved filled her with a sense of dizzy surrealism. How fortunate for them to have been born on _this_ planet of all the rocks orbiting all the stars in the galaxy. How fortunate for them to never live through Goa'uld atrocities and survive only to relive them again as nightmares.

"Cassie … Cassie … Cass?"

Jack O'Neill's voice drew Cassandra back to the present. He wore his uniform with so many decorations on his chest it looked like a trophy case and stood with his arms spread wide. Jack looked older than the last time they'd seen each other, his hair more silver and more lines on his face, but he wore an expression of boyish delight.

"I am so proud of you, kid."

He hugged her tightly and dropped a light kiss on the top of her head like he used to do when she was younger. All the haunted memories of a moment ago dissipated with that casual display of fatherly affection. Her eyes had gone misty all of a sudden, and she blinked rapidly to clear her vision.

Jack, Sam, Daniel, and Teal'c stood in a semi-circle around Cassandra. This was the team that had found her alone among the dead bodies on Hanka and brought her back to Earth. From that day, they had been a surrogate family, saving her every day in big and small ways alike.

"The original SG-1," she said. "I want a picture of this."

The former teammates glanced sidelong at each other, only now recognizing their reunion. Jack had gone off to run Homeworld Command, and Sam commanded the _George Hammond_ now. Teal'c spent as much time with the Jaffa nation as he did on Earth. To have them all together like this, just the four of them, had become rare.

Only after nearly half of Cassandra's camera memory card had been filled with pictures of various combinations, and then done all over again when Tessa arrived, did the junior Air Force officer dare to approach Jack.

"General O'Neill, sir."

"Lieutenant Hammond," Jack replied, all fake formality. He grinned. "I haven't gotten to say that since … 1969, isn't that right?"

"Yes, sir," Sam answered, and for some reason, stole a sidelong glance at Cassandra.

"Colonel Caldwell wanted me to have a word with you, sir."

Jack sighed deeply, but nodded. "You'd better come too, Carter. If Caldwell wants something for _Daedalus_, it's only fair you get to ask for something too."

Jack, Sam, and Tessa wandered off to talk business in a more secluded section of the campus grounds. Daniel and Teal'c stayed with Cassandra until their watches announced the two o'clock hour. They were needed back at Stargate Command, as SG-1 was scheduled for a mission in a few hours.

"We will have to go to Atlantis again," Teal'c said. To others, his displeasure might not have been obvious, but Cassandra had known him half her life. She noted the turned down corners of his mouth and the sullen tone in his deep voice.

At one time, Cassandra would have eagerly asked for more information. Now, however, she didn't want to know. She understood Stargate operations enough to know that Pegasus Stargates superseded Milky Way Stargates, and therefore, as long as Atlantis remained on Earth, all off world teams left and arrived through the Ancient city. Apparently, Teal'c did not like this arrangement.

"Good luck off world. Come back alive."

She led them into a mostly deserted classroom where they could leave in secrecy and stood back while the white light of the Asgard beam transported them halfway across the United States. Chills raced up her spine. She had never travelled that way, and the very thought of being dematerialized and assembled elsewhere gave her cold sweats.

o o o

Back outside, Cassandra took a seat at a picnic table around the quad and enjoyed the gentle lake breeze and the knowledge she had graduated law school. She gazed out at the lawn and the conversation continuing between Jack, Sam, and Tessa.

"Good afternoon, Miss Fraiser, and congratulations."

She started and turned sharply around to find the speaker. His voice sounded lyrical and polite, and she immediately connected it to the small man in a finely tailored navy blue suit and striped tie hovering on the pavement. He was going bald and wore large glasses, though neither affected the confidence with which he held himself. The sun in her eyes kept her from seeing his face clearly, and seeing her squint, he moved over a step to block the light for her.

"Uh, thank you." She tried to place him as a professor or lecturer or even a guest speaker, but she felt certain she had not seen him before. "And thank you."

The gentleman smiled what Cassandra had come to call a 'lawyer's smile.' It was the sort of half-genuine, half-predatory look she had come to associate with a professor pouncing on her argument, tearing it to shreds, and confounding her with a platitude like 'nice effort.' She returned the look with one of mild interest.

"You're wondering who I am and how I know you. My name is Richard Woolsey." He went on listing his affiliations and job experience, but Cassandra knew him by name. She felt a lurch in her stomach, like she was falling without a net, at being confronted by the IOA so unexpectedly.

"I know who you are, Mr. Woolsey," she said when he'd finished giving a condensed vitae. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she was an alien living on Earth, and therefore subject to IOA review. "Please have a seat. What can I do for you on my graduation day?"

Mr. Woolsey gave an almost inaudible laugh as he sat. "I see you expect the worst when the IOA comes to call. I'm not here to deliver any messages or summons. I've come on a professional matter."

"Ah, I see. So which of my classmates is getting recruited?"

That lawyer's smile surfaced again, and this time Cassandra felt it was more predatory than friendly. "Since Atlantis has been on Earth, there have been certain logistical problems due to our gate superseding the Earth gate. I have tried to work with General Landry to manage the situation, but it has become clear Atlantis needs more personnel devoted to administration. I am particularly looking for someone with diplomacy and tact when dealing with the various parties interested in using the Stargate."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes as she replayed his carefully rehearsed speech in her head. "Stargate Command teams and Atlantis teams are making a kind of scrum at the event horizon. Everyone is jockeying for mission priority, and they all expect you to sort it out for them."

"Yes. On top of which, the city is still badly damaged and repairs are ongoing. Along with all of the other teams with off world missions, the population of the city has doubled with crews to repair and even rebuild portions of Atlantis. I'm looking for an executive assistant who is a capable diplomat and can prioritize small matters within the larger framework."

"So naturally you want a lawyer." Cassandra saw the logic in it. Their profession required the piecing together of minute details within the context of the law to argue a position. If anyone could see the forest and the trees, proverbially speaking, it was a lawyer. "Are you looking for a recommendation, Mr. Woolsey? I've known these people for three years, and I think several of them would do very well for you."

"There is one other requirement, naturally. They need security clearance."

That brought her up short. As far as she knew, the only person in her class with any security clearance, much less a level high enough to know about the Stargate program was …. "Oh, no, Mr. Woolsey. No, I am not interested."

"You are a natural candidate for the Stargate program."

"Maybe so, but I have no interest in joining. I've moved on with my life. The Stargate isn't the center of my world anymore."

"And yet you invited no one to your law school graduation but high-ranking members of the Stargate program."

Cassandra took a breath. Getting into a têt-á-têt with Richard Woolsey would do no good. He was a highly skilled lawyer with years of experience; she had been a law school graduate for an hour. She stood up to take her leave, even if it meant barging in on an informal Homeworld Command meeting.

"Nevertheless, Mr. Woolsey, a disinterested lawyer is a bad lawyer. I may have the degree and clearance you're looking for, but I have no desire to do this job. I thank you for your consideration and the offer, but I have other plans in mind for my future."

Mr. Woolsey stood from the table, smoothing out his tie as he did so. "May I ask you one final question, Miss Fraiser?" When she nodded, he went on. "The Stargate program is the reason you survived the tragic events on your planet, and the reason you and millions of other humans are no longer enslaved to the Goa'uld. Why are you not interested in joining a program responsible for so much good?"

Cassandra swallowed thickly and glanced away. She stared over the grass rippling in the wind for a long time. "I assume that you have never watched every person you've ever known die of an illness that seems to you retribution from the gods. I will also assume you have never been turned into a human bomb nor felt your DNA rewrite itself inside your body. Sometimes, Mr. Woolsey, a person has simply seen enough."

He stared at her for a long moment, his lawyer smile gone and replaced with grim resignation. "I can understand your position, Miss Fraiser, and I can't fault you for it. If you intended to turn me away with that answer, however, I'm afraid it didn't work. I'm more convinced than ever you are just the sort of person we need. If you change your mind, this is how you can reach me."

"And if I don't?"

"Then expect another visit from me."

Mr. Woolsey left a brown file folder on the table and departed without delay. Cassandra lowered herself down onto the bench again and flipped open the folder. A business card with a Washington, D.C. phone number had been affixed inside with a paper clip. The other documents in the folder, however, did not relate to contact information. Quickly, Cassandra glanced through the pages.

"Mr. Woolsey," she said, shaking her head. If nothing else, the man was as sharp as a tack. He knew exactly what to give her to pique her interest.

She closed the folder as Jack, Sam, and Tessa came over. She would have a lot to think about over the next several days, but for now, she wanted to enjoy what little time she had with her godparents and best friend.


	2. Sonata of the Sea

**CHAPTER TWO  
SONATA OF THE SEA**

An audience had gathered to watch the sparring match. Ronon Dex was used to that by now. Every time he fought an opponent some faction of Atlantis thought equal to him, they turned out in droves to prove each other right or wrong. Money changed hands more often than not, something Ronon found amusing, though he did want to know who bet against him so he could demonstrate his skill.

He reached out a hand and helped Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell to his feet. The so-called 'Sodan versus Satedan' match had been decided in favor of the Pegasus galaxy. No surprises there. The other man looked a little dazed from that last fall, but his blue eyes slipped back into focus, and he stood up straighter to try and match Ronon's superior height.

"Better luck next time," Ronon said, repeating a phrase he often heard the marines use with each other.

"Next time?" Mitchell asked in his drawling voice and cocked an eyebrow dramatically. "I know I don't look that stupid."

Now that the sparring session had ended, the scientists gradually dispersed back to their labs and the marines wandered out to enjoy the rest of their day off. Mitchell and the other member of SG-1 in Atlantis, the dark-haired woman called Vala Mal Doran who liked to flirt with every male in the city, left the gym in a debate over how much he owed her for losing.

"They thought that guy was a match for me?"

A towel appeared in the air before Ronon, and he reached out to snatch it just before it slapped his face. Draping it around his shoulders, he grinned crookedly at Teyla Emmagan who alone remained in the room. The leader of the Athosians wore a patient, slightly chiding expression on her handsome square face and shook her head so that her long hair bounced around her shoulders.

"His style was impressive, but not meant to combat blunt force, Ronon. He deserves credit for even facing you, knowing as he must that you fought with Teal'c for over an hour."

"Yeah, I guess so. He did get me in the side once." Ronon touched a hand to his tender left side. Mitchell's blow would probably leave a bruise, but it didn't hurt too badly yet, and he'd been through much worse against the Wraith and Replicators.

In silent unison, Ronon and Teyla exited the gym and went their separate ways for an hour before their scheduled team meeting in the conference room above Stargate operations. Not that Ronon knew what there was to discuss as a team. Since Atlantis had landed on Earth, their missions had been the same: track down every single Wraith that had made it to Earth in darts. Even the status reports on repairing the city were all the same: progress was being made, but there was a lot to do still. Meanwhile, the Wraith in Pegasus had free run of the galaxy.

Ronon wasn't handling life on Earth as well as he'd thought he would. When Atlantis had left Pegasus three months ago, he'd known the chances of the Ancestors' city returning were slim. Knowing it and living it were two different things. Atlantis had come from this planet millions of years ago, but it didn't belong now. Everything felt wrong about the city being on Earth. The constant hum of the cloak drowned out the waves lapping against the piers. More disconcerting still were the sudden glimpses of the sprawling city on the coast and their strange giant red bridge from every balcony.

But his friends were here. Woolsey and Sheppard had offered both himself and Teyla a ride back to Pegasus on the _Daedalus_, but he had declined. He wouldn't desert his friends, no matter what.

o o o

A cool shower washed off the sweat accumulated from a run with Sheppard earlier in the morning and the sparring session with Mitchell and gave him a reason to stop thinking entirely. Seven years he'd gone without things like showers every day, and now that he had them, Ronon didn't disregard the magnificence of the most ordinary comforts.

After a long time just standing under the showerhead letting the water run over his olive skin, he decided the time had come to head to the briefing. Woolsey got upset if anyone walked in late, and with the stacks of paperwork mounting (although Ronon saw no evidence of it in Woolsey's office, Sheppard explained it was a metaphor), the personnel in the city had collectively taken pity on the little man and made sure to show up on time for meetings and tried not to dial home in the middle of firefights.

Dressed in black clothes with his gun holster fixed to his belt, Ronon headed for the nearest transporter. As he waited for the doors to open, he tied back his long dreadlocks. Three more people discussing the ongoing repairs, all newly assigned from Stargate Command, joined him. He didn't know their names, but they recognized him as a permanent resident in the city.

"Do these things always take so long?" a short, squat man inquired. "Should we look at the interface to see if there's a problem?"

"There's no problem." The doors opened and Ronon touched the button on the city map to direct the transporter to the central tower. "More people, more waiting," he added helpfully. The three men exchanged sidelong glances and said nothing.

Ronon left the scientists at the transporter and took the stairs to the control room two at a time. Chuck sat at the console pointing at a laptop connected to the DHD while Zelenka peered over his shoulder nodding empathically. Every time he came up here, Ronon felt a sense of loss not seeing Amelia around the city anymore, but she had to go where she was assigned, and the IOA wanted her elsewhere.

The geometrically designed doors opened with a pneumatic tone to allow Ronon into the conference room. His teammates had gathered around the polished wood table already. Teyla sat next to Rodney McKay who hunched over his tablet computer so low his nose almost touched the screen and it cast a bluish glow over his ruddy skin. A perpetual frown marked his face, but after four years as a team, Ronon had learned the nuances of his expressions. Something genuinely vexed McKay today.

"Am I late?" Ronon asked, claiming the chair next to Colonel John Sheppard.

Their team leader lounged casually in the leather desk chair with a little smirk in the corner of his mouth and a light in his brown eyes that told Ronon he was thinking about needling McKay about something. He seemed to decide against it in the end and entertained himself by running a hand through his already messy dark hair.

"Just by a few minutes, but since Woolsey isn't here anyway …." Seeing Teyla's concerned look, Sheppard explained why their always punctual expedition leader was behind schedule. "He went to Chicago to try and shanghai an assistant."

"I hope he succeeds, for his own sake," Teyla observed. "His workload lately has been unmanageable for only one person."

"If these SGC teams would stop beaming in all over the city and arguing how their missions are more important than ours, maybe it wouldn't be so bad," Ronon said. "I say we let the General deal with their whining and let Woolsey get back to the important stuff, like repairing the city."

Sheppard said nothing, probably because he couldn't complain about a superior officer, and the team let the subject drop. They discussed instead any little events that had happened in the course of the morning, but had nothing much to do with their missions. Save for the fact all these things happened in an Ancient city-ship previously from another galaxy, they sounded like a group of best friends chatting about their day. Except McKay, who continued to scowl and moodily jab his finger at the tablet computer.

Woolsey entered twenty minutes behind schedule looking flustered and out of breath. He wore a suit and tie instead of his standard gray base uniform, but didn't seem to notice it at all. Teyla greeted him and inquired about recruiting his assistant, to which a frown matching McKay's appeared.

"I'm afraid she is more reluctant than I'd hoped. I figured she, of all people … but I think I convinced her to seriously consider the job." He moved his index finger around the touch screen of his tablet, and then addressed the team in his more formal manner. "Shall we begin the briefing?"

It was exactly what Ronon had suspected: more of the same. They needed to track down Wraith, the SGC would keep beaming in teams to go off world, the battlecruisers in orbit were being refitted with new technology. All of this Ronon knew, and he struggled to stay focused on the topic at hand.

"Teyla, how are the Athosians handling life on Earth?"

The woman offered a half-smile as she carefully considered her words. "The few of my people in the city do not know what to think. They can see the city is undergoing repairs, and I have explained the Stargate is secret on this planet and they cannot go to your mainland. They are content for now to stay here and assist however they can."

Woolsey nodded. "We appreciate their help, and I'll leave it to you to find work they are best suited to. While we're on the subject of Pegasus galaxy natives in the city …." He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "The IOA wants a proposal on what we should do with Todd. It's been three months since he's fed, and no one thinks his natural healing ability can compensate much longer."

"Good," Ronon said with a sneer. "But I say we kill him now. You don't want to keep a starving Wraith around."

"On this planet – In this country," Woolsey corrected, "we don't summarily execute our prisoners simply because we don't know what to do with them."

"I've had this conversation before," Sheppard said, "and I stand by what I said. Wraith prisoners are not the same as human prisoners. Ronon's got a point. Imagine you haven't eaten for three months and someone is dangling a sandwich in front of you. That's what the guards are to him. I'm not saying we kill him outright, but we can't keep him here."

"It's cruel and unusual, I know, and so does the IOA. That's why they want a solution."

"And yet," Teyla said, "you have also said in the past that once a prisoner is turned over to Area 51, they are not likely to be returned to us, and so we have fought to keep Todd in Atlantis in case he can be of use to us."

"I think we might be beyond that point very soon," Woolsey said. "I value your input, and I'll be sure to consider all viewpoints when I make my final recommendation."

"You didn't consider mine," Ronon said.

Woolsey looked like he wanted to say something, but changed his mind and turned to McKay. "You've been awfully quite, Dr. McKay. Do you have anything to add?"

Rodney glanced up from the screen with his most sardonic face. "I am simultaneously entering energy distribution protocols, running life support diagnostics, regulating power to the city cloak, and attempting to ignore the deluge of whining e-mails from under qualified second rate scientists who desperately want my attention. All of this may sound very easy, but in fact, it is all very difficult. Except the last part. Ignoring people is actually pretty easy. And cathartic. But, to the matter at hand, would I like to add to the discussion about Todd? Sure. I can be a brilliant diplomat in addition to astrophysics super genius. I'm with Ronon." And with that, he unceremoniously buried himself in his computer screen again.

A smile hidden in the corner of Ronon's mouth by his long goatee also lit up his hazel green eyes. McKay could be irritatingly conceited to the point of distraction, but sometimes it was downright amusing too.

The briefing broke up a few minutes later with the standard parting message: if any Wraith or darts were spotted on Earth, they would be notified immediately.

o o o

Walking through the gate room used to feel something like entering a place of worship. The wide open space with the metal walls sloping away and the balconies that ringed the room gave the Stargate in the center an almost holy reverent aura. The sun or stars filtering in through the stained glass windows had cast everything in peaceful, welcoming light. Ronon had liked that moment of calm before entering the rippling blue event horizon and being sent across the galaxy into an unknown and potentially deadly situation. He had especially appreciated it when returning home.

The gate room felt nothing like that now. Teams jostled for elbow room with the permanent compliment of SFs guarding the gate. Sometimes, two or three teams lined up waiting to go through the Stargate like it was one of those strange circular revolving doors Earth humans loved so much. The Stargate was a tool, and Ronon appreciated that. But it was an Ancestral tool, and Satedans had revered the Ancestors and all their creations.

"No, I'm sorry, but I said no. It's not possible with the schedule today," Woosley's voice carried down from the balcony outside his office. Ronon flicked his eyes up to see Colonel Edwards from SG-11 turn and stalk away. Woolsey sighed deeply, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and retreated into his office. He considered going to see their leader and offering to put Edwards in his place, but already three more people had crowded into the office to ask questions or make requests.

The crowd parted easily for Ronon as he made his way out of the gate room and towards the mess hall. The people who knew him, the ones who had been on Atlantis in the Pegasus galaxy, greeted him as they passed in the wide corridors, but mostly scientists and doctors shrank against the wall to give him plenty of room.

"Ronon!" an accented voice called out. He knew without looking back Carson Beckett trailed behind him. Sure enough, the Scottish doctor came around the bend in the corridor a beat later. His normally calm, reassuring face had taken on a hint of irritation, and he had the look of a harried man about him. "I've been trying to catch you since you left the control room, but the crowds don't exactly part as easily for me as they do for you."

"Come on, doc. Let's get some lunch. Talk to me on the way."

The doctor fell into step beside Ronon and began gently chiding him for not coming in for his regular check-ups. It had been three months since the Wraith killed and revived him, and Ronon felt that was enough time to be sure his health was back for good.

The mess hall was just as crowded as the gate room, control room, and everywhere else in Atlantis, but it felt less claustrophobic with everyone seated at tables. Ronon heaped a tray full of food while Carson went on nattering at him. He accepted all the implied criticism about being reckless and cavalier with nonchalance because Carson meant well and he was a friend.

"Yeah, okay. I'll come see you tomorrow."

Carson frowned. "You say that like a man who plans on conveniently forgetting about his appointment."

Without comment, Ronon beat a path to the tables on the balcony outside. The red bridge crossing the bay had ceased to fascinate and no one snapped pictures of it with their cameras anymore. He joined Rodney and Sheppard at a table on a promenade with a good view and almost guaranteed fresh breeze. The astrophysicist had abandoned his computer for food.

"So this assistant Woolsey wants," Ronon began. "She gets here and things go back to normal?"

"Not unless she's Wonder Woman," Rodney returned. He didn't know who Wonder Woman was, but Sheppard had a more comprehensible answer. "No, but if Woolsey's not distracted by petty things, then he'll have more time to press the IOA about speeding up repairs and doing something about the Wraith in Pegasus."

"Good. Then I hope she gets here soon."

"Oh, Mr. Woolsey has an assistant, does he?" Carson inquired. "You know, I suggested that to him several weeks ago when I noticed how much stress he's been under. I know Jennifer did as well. Do we know who this new person is?"

"He didn't say, but she also hasn't agreed. And if she knows about the mess we've been dealing with for three months, I'm not entirely sure she will unless she's …" Sheppard didn't finish, but touched a finger to his earpiece. "I'm on my way. Ronon, with me. We might have a mission."


	3. Einsteinturm

**CHAPTER THREE  
EINSTEINTURM**

Silence settled around the table, and Cassandra's eyes darted between her two companions. Sam had very gently laid down her fork and knife across the plate still half filled with grilled fish and broccoli. Jack had paused in the middle of dabbing his mouth with the cloth napkin. Suddenly, she turned her head away, as if to give them a moment to exchange meaningful glances without her observing. While she took in the view of the elegant steakhouse decorated in handsome woods and red fabrics, she could practically feel their faces working in caricatures of surprise and alarm.

She turned to look at her godparents again and saw they had regained their composure. They looked, the three of them, like every other table in the restaurant with their civilian clothes and nuclear family-like grouping. Except their conversation had taken a turn for the bizarre, talking as they were about the lost city of Atlantis flying back to the Milky Way.

"Say again?"

Jack's question was no request, and Cassandra had expected it. "I've joined the IOA as Mr. Woolsey's executive assistant." She kept her voice controlled, but her stomach flipped in trepidation. Neither of her godparents had particularly good opinions of the International Oversight Advisory, and they wouldn't want to see her go to work within an organization of smarmy politicians.

"Cassie," Sam began, halted, and then began again. "Cassie, we thought you didn't want anything to do with the Stargate program. If we'd known, we could have … advised you about this decision."

Jack gestured to Sam as if to say 'she said it better.' "Advised you, yes. That's what we would have done."

She knew they meant to talk her out of it still, but Cassandra had read and reread the files Mr. Woolsey left her for days now. She had thought of nothing else when she opened her books to study for the bar exam or when she jogged through Grant Park. Even her hobbies and evenings out with friends couldn't distract her from the words in black and white on the page.

The documents had changed her world forever. While she still felt reticent to join the Stargate program, she also felt obligated to do so. If Jack or Sam had an alternative that didn't include the IOA, she would listen, but she suspected recently graduated civilian lawyers were not in high demand at Homeworld Command.

"I asked you to come here so that I could tell you about a decision I've made," Cassandra said again. "And I want you to know that even though I'm a civilian employed by the IOA, I will never forget that it was the Air Force that found me a home and family on Earth."

"That's nice, Cassie, but you can't work for the IOA." Sam shot an exasperated glare at Jack, but said nothing. Cassandra only raised an eyebrow in silent challenge. "You're not one of them. They're bureaucrats and politicians and … and …"

"Lawyers?"

"My point is," Jack would not be daunted, "they're all looking out for number one. I don't trust any one of them. They'll either step on you or use you or throw you under a bus to get what they want. Sam can tell you firsthand what they're like. 'Too good a job'? Who buys into that? I don't want to see that happen to you, Cassie."

She reached across the table and put a hand on Jack's. "I know you'll always see me as the little girl who believed kids on Earth really did have to own a dog, but I've grown up with role models like Sam and my mom. No one is going to find me an easy mark, and they'll regret it if they make the mistake of thinking I am."

Silence fell around the table again until Jack sighed deeply. "IOA, huh?"

"You know, they're not _really_ the enemy," said Sam.

"No, I guess not," he agreed, and then added, "Just _sort of_ the enemy."

o o o

The puddle jumper descended from the jumper bay into the gate room and hovered in front of the event horizon. SG teams waiting to disembark had crowded back onto the stairs to give the cylindrical green spaceship room to maneuver. When Woolsey gave the go ahead, Sheppard engaged the autopilot and propelled the ship into the wormhole. Seconds later, the Ancient ship emerged on P3C-69S or Castelle, as the locals called it.

"Engaging the cloak," Sheppard said. Nothing noticeable happened inside the ship, but the team safely assumed they were flying invisibly through the darkening sky.

"So what do these SG teams do when we're not here with puddle jumpers to save them?" Ronon asked. The only hint he asked in jest was the crinkling around his eyes.

Sheppard chose not to answer and called up the HUD. Topographical maps and life signs appeared in the front window of the ship. McKay in the passenger seat pointed to a mountainous area and four blinking life signs.

"There. And you know, Ronon, this isn't just any SG team. This is SG-1 we're rescuing. No one can call us the unworthy little siblings anymore, can they?"

"Who called us that?"

Rodney's dramatic smirk slipped a notch, and he glanced uncertainly at Sheppard. "People called us that sometimes because they're the frontline team in the Milky Way, and we're the frontline team in Pegasus."

"I don't think anyone called us that."

The scientist made a feeble attempt at protest before turning his attention entirely to the display and pretending he'd said nothing in the first place.

When they were within radio range of SG-1, Sheppard opened a radio channel. "SG-1, this is Sheppard. If you can hear me, please respond."

Static crackled over their earpieces, and Ronon instinctively drew out his gun to check the charge. Sheppard hailed them again only to receive more static. At last, a tinny voice carried over the channel.

"_This is Mitchell. Nice to hear your voice, Sheppard._" He didn't sound breathless or urgent or any other signal that indicated his team was injured or in a fight, but there was a note of something in his voice Ronon couldn't quite identify.

"You're a few hours overdue, and General Landry was getting a little worried. Everything all right down there?"

"_We're … locked in a room._" Chagrin. That was it.

Sheppard exchanged quizzical, silent glances with each of his teammates before responding. "Have you tried the door?" A grin broke across Ronon's face, and Teyla shot him a warning look.

"_There isn't a door_," Mitchell's tinny voice was angry now. "_There was an arch in a mountain pass and after we walked through, it turned into a solid wall. We found some kind of writing along the walls, but Jackson has never seen it before and claims he can't translate it._" Some kind of furious argument, presumably between Mitchell and Daniel Jackson, ensued for the next several moments.

"We're in a puddle jumper and we've got your location. If the key isn't this alien language, maybe it's a physics thing. McKay will get the door opened. ETA five minutes. Sheppard out."

"Oh, thank you for volunteering me like that," McKay groused. He punched buttons on his tablet furiously, but a smug look came over his face at the same time. "Although, I can't wait to see Daniel's face when I get the door open."

Sheppard touched the puddle jumper down in a grassy valley half a click to the west and several hundred feet above SG-1's location. They scrambled down the loose rocky mountainside with McKay in the rear, alternately complaining and gloating about being able to do something Daniel Jackson couldn't, the whole way.

"SG-1, this Sheppard. We're right outside the tunnel. I'm assuming the Celtic-looking arch is what you were talking about?"

"_Don't walk under it!_" a woman's voice commanded through the radio.

"_Yeah, that's a good advice, Vala_," Jackson replied sarcastically, also over the radio. "_Rodney, listen, this planet was once the domain of Camulus, but the writing isn't Goa'uld. I think we're looking at a completely unknown alien technology._"

"Well, regardless of who invented the technology, the laws of physics always apply. The thing is, we're looking right through the arch and we can't see you, so that must mean …"

Whatever it meant, Ronon didn't care. He wandered away from the tunnel opening to peer out over the wide emerald green plain stretching out from the mountain chain. This wasn't his kind of mission. If SG-1 had been pinned down by hostiles, then he would have been useful. Teyla came to join him a few minutes later.

"You look pensive, Ronon."

The Satedan stayed quiet for a moment, uncharacteristically reluctant to speak his mind. He relented at last because it was Teyla asking, and he could talk to her about anything. "I was just thinking. What are we doing here? Rescuing teams from secret chambers no one can see? While we're doing this, what's happening in Pegasus without Atlantis to fight the Wraith?"

Teyla breathed deeply. "I cannot say I have not wondered the same. But we were given a choice, Ronon. Mr. Woolsey would have allowed us to stay in our home galaxy, but we remained loyal to our friends. I do not regret my decision, and I do not believe you do either."

"No, of course not. I'm just thinking of how many worlds are being culled right now because there's no one to fight."

"We do not know that. Perhaps the Travelers or Genii have taken up the fight."

"Perhaps?"

Teyla turned away quickly, unable to meet his eye. It was a faint hope that anyone stood against the Wraith in Pegasus the same way Atlantis had. The Genii had no spaceships, and while the Travelers did, they were barely an equal match.

"There is important work to be done on Earth yet," she said finally. "I will be content to remain in this galaxy until every last Wraith that escaped the battle has been hunted down and killed."

"Let's make sure we get that mission next time. Not this kind."

McKay managed to find the mechanism that revealed the invisible door an hour later, and SG-1 filed out of the chamber looking agitated, but unharmed. While McKay nattered about doors in other dimensions, whatever that meant, Vala Mal Doran kept talking over him about some apology she thought Jackson owed her. Even Teal'c's placid façade showed signs of cracking after nineteen hours in cramped quarters with his team. He wouldn't speak except to thank the Atlantis team for coming to their aid.

Back in the puddle jumper, SG-1 took the four rear seats while Sheppard did his pre-flight.

"The alien team members are always treated unfairly," Vala claimed. She looked at Teal'c for support, but the Jaffa only scowled at her. Teyla hurriedly started up a conversation with McKay about the difference between alternate dimensions and alternate realities, but Ronon swiveled his chair around to stare at Vala. "You agree, don't you?"

"No."

"Then why did you turn around like you were going to agree?" Vala looked genuinely disappointed no one had taken her side, but Ronon didn't believe she really felt treated badly or she would have left already.

"Because I wanted to talk to Teal'c."

Teal'c bowed his head formally. "It is good to see you once again, Ronon Dex. I had heard rumors about your demise, and I am very relieved to see they have been greatly exaggerated."

Not long ago, Ronon had hated everything about Teal'c, but they had come to an understanding when the Wraith invaded Stargate Command. Different as they were, Ronon respected the Jaffa and considered him a friend, although they saw each other infrequently.

When Sheppard took the puddle jumper into the sky, Ronon turned his chair around to face front and found McKay still explaining the difference between dimensions and realities to Teyla. She did a commendable job keeping her face neutral considering she had brought it on herself to avoid Vala.

Jackson guessed this was the point of Teyla's question and saved her the trouble of feigning interest in Rodney by talking over him. "So I hear Woolsey is getting an assistant."

"Yes, I believe that is correct," Teyla said immediately, and offered a grateful smile to the archaeologist. "He told me yesterday. I believe you are acquainted with her. Cassandra I think is her name."

"Teal'c and I have known her since she was twelve. She's a very special young woman. You'll be lucky to have her in Atlantis."

"She hates the Wraith?" Ronon asked. This was really all he needed to know about anyone to decide if they were a good person and valuable team member.

Jackson faltered for a moment. "I don't know how much she knows about the Wraith, but I know she hates the Goa'uld just about as much as anyone can."

"Good enough for me." He felt that anyone who hated the Goa'uld would find the Wraith equally easy to hate.

o o o

The white beam of light consumed Cassandra, and she felt a strange tingling in her limbs and the sensation of hovering before the light receded. The bland gray office in Homeworld Command had been replaced by a wide open room surrounded by balconies and stained glass windows. Her breath caught in her throat at the beauty of the Ancient architecture. This was what the first evolution of the human form had created.

Slowly, as her mind processed that she now stood in the city of Atlantis, a chill crept up her spine. She doubted she would ever feel comfortable teleporting. She glanced down instinctively to check that all her body parts had arrived in tact. Cassandra appeared whole, though dressed bizarrely, in her opinion. She wore the dark gray base uniform issued to all Atlantis personnel, and hers bore vivid red stripes along the shoulders and around the forearms to indicate she was part of the administrative staff.

"Welcome to Atlantis, Miss Fraiser."

Mr. Woolsey had come down the staircase marked with glowing Ancient block letters that reminded her of the staircases at the Chicago Art Institute. He wore the same uniform as Cassandra, but more neatly with the jacket all the way zipped up.

"Thank you, Mr. Woolsey." A second Asgard beam lit up the empty space beside Cassandra depositing two boxes of personal affects. A marine several years younger than her came forward at once to assist. "I can probably manage." But the marine already had the boxes in his arms.

"I've asked Corporal Feher to show you to your quarters. I would do myself, but … well, I have several irate scientists in my office. Why don't you take the rest of the day to get settled, and we'll begin tomorrow morning." He glanced up through the glass walls of his office overlooking the gate room and the five scientists within arguing furiously. "It is very good to have you here."

The Corporal named Feher led Cassandra up the staircase and away from the control room full of oddly geometrical machines full of glowing crystals and blue screens flashing white Ancient letters to which laptops had been connected. At a set of blank bronze-green metal doors, the Corporal balanced the stacked boxes on his knee and waved his one free hand over an upright rectangular panel. The doors slid open to reveal a room about the size of a standard elevator. On the back wall a mounted screen displayed what she assumed had to be a map of a city.

"If you'll touch that square just above the central tower, ma'am …."

Cassandra did as he asked, and the doors closed. A second later, they opened again to reveal a completely different location. She followed Feher out of the transporter and down a long corridor running along an outside wall. As she walked, Cassandra peered out the wide windows at the city laid out beneath her. It was all towers and connecting corridors like sky bridges with blue metal and glass flashing in the afternoon light.

"Ma'am?"

She shook off her astonishment and hurried to catch up to the young marine. There would be plenty of time to appreciate the city's magnificence, but for now, she held up a marine lugging around her heavy boxes. Feher stood about half a head taller than Cassandra with mousy brown hair and downturned green eyes. It seemed incredible to her that at twenty-four she was not the youngest person in the city. Marines not even old enough to buy alcohol risked their lives to defend the planet from intergalactic enemies.

"What's your name, Corporal Feher?"

"Colburn, ma'am, but I go by Colby. Your quarters are just up here, ma'am."

"You don't have to call me ma'am. I'm Cassandra, or Cassie if you prefer." The door he indicated looked identical to the transporter doors, but when she waved her hand in front of the door panel, they opened on a generously sized room instead of an elevator-like box. "You can leave the boxes on the bed. Thank you for your help, Colby."

"Yes, m – Anytime, Cassie."

With the room to herself and no urgent business to attend to, Cassandra took a few minutes to explore her new living space and unpack. Her clothes and spare uniforms she placed neatly in the white chest of drawers. Framed pictures of her friends and family – most of them taken at Jack's fishing cabin or the backyard of her teenage home in Colorado Springs – she arranged on the desk around the tablet computer. Lastly, she hung the reprint of James Abbott McNeill Whistler's _Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Falling Rocket_ over her bed so she could wake up every morning to the most beautiful and inspiring work of art she had ever laid eyes on.

The room now claimed as her own, Cassandra picked up the radio waiting for her next to the computer. Inserting the earpiece, she left her new quarters with the tablet balanced in the crook of her arm.

Mr. Woolsey had forwarded several documents to her via e-mail over the last few days, one of which was a map of the city. She got herself turned around several times and ended up back at the door to her quarters. All the while, the chattering in her ear as members of the expedition called to one another distracted her. There was something else as well, a foreign sensation like a low thrumming that crested with every heartbeat. Only when she neared the upper floors of the central tower did she recognize it for what it is was: the Stargate. The naquadah in her blood felt the power in the Stargate.

"This is going to take some getting used to," she muttered. She hadn't felt this since the last time she'd been into the SGC at the age of sixteen.

"Cassandra?" a hesitant voice asked.

She turned to see a young woman with long dark blonde hair and a kind, open face a few feet away. She wore a standard base uniform with yellow bands indicating she was part of the medical staff.

Cassandra hadn't memorized all the personnel files in the Atlantis database, but she had paid close attention to the senior staff. She, therefore, easily recognized Dr. Jennifer Keller, the Chief Medical Officer of Atlantis.

"That's me. You must be Dr. Keller."

"Please, Jennifer. Sam asked me to keep an eye out for you and to show you around Atlantis."

Cassandra smiled despite herself. That was just like Sam to always look out for her even though she'd joined the IOA, which sometimes seemed more like Homeworld Command's adversary than ally. A year ago, Sam had been in command of Atlantis, and she had made friends here who would probably become Cassandra's friends as well.

"I seem to be doing a very poor job of finding the mess hall," she admitted.

"You're not that far off. It's this way. I'll show you." They stepped around a cluster of workers arguing over the best way to repair the shattered corridor paneling. "Did Sam tell you about girls' poker night? We have a game in a few days, if you want to join us."

"Poker, yeah, she mentioned that." Cassandra laughed uneasily. "I'm really more of a chess player, but sure, I'll hand over my money before I see my first paycheck."

"Oh, don't worry. None of us are very good except Teyla. You have to watch her. Great at bluffing. There's a chess club too. Rodney could tell you about that."

"As in Dr. Rodney McKay?"

Something about her tone of voice must have told Jennifer this was dangerous territory because she changed the subject to a guided tour of the city.


	4. Deer in Woods II

**CHAPTER FOUR  
DEER IN WOODS II**

The alarm clock on the nightstand roused Cassandra well before dawn. Yawning and stumbling blindly around her new quarters, she managed to activate a light and rub enough sleep from her eyes to dress in a track suit and tennis shoes. Trying to recall Jennifer's tour of the city, she made her way to the transporter while stretching arms and legs.

Several others had the same idea to get in a run before the work day started. Mostly, they were the military contingent and doctors, but a few technicians and scientists conscious of their sedentary lifestyle had emerged into the gray predawn too. As she ran through the fog rolling over San Francisco Bay, Cassandra tried to ignore the way the naquadah hummed in her ears and pretend it was only Buckingham Fountain in Grant Park.

Only now, running down the length of the east pier did Cassandra fully appreciate the size of Atlantis. It was one thing to hear a description – roughly the size of Manhattan – and another to try and run the distance. When the sun began to peak above the horizon and cast the fog in burning purple light, she turned around and headed back to her room.

Jennifer leaned against the wall beside her door when she arrived, two cups of coffee in hand. She took in Cassandra's attire and flushed face. "As your doctor, I approve. As a friend, I have to wonder why you torture yourself."

Cassandra couldn't help but admire the other woman's unguarded manner. They had talked for maybe an hour once, and she was a friend? Cassandra had been thinking the same thing, but she would never have said it aloud.

"I used to be a swimmer, but I'm not about to jump into Lake Michigan or San Francisco Bay or any other body of water without chlorine in it. So I decided to start running when I left high school and lost the pool. Thanks for the coffee."

"No problem. Although, your way of waking up is much healthier."

"You're welcome to join me. I start at 5:30 every morning."

Jennifer gave a dry laugh that clearly meant she would not be pulling herself out of bed that early except for medical emergencies and left for the infirmary. Cassandra retreated into her room to prepare for her first day of work.

o o o

The team advanced over the rocky ground with Ronon in the lead, his weapon out and set to kill. Teyla kept pace with him and swept the muzzle of her P-90 side to side. Her face showed complete concentration as she tried to sense the Wraith. They had found the wreckage of its dart half a click away and knew it must be somewhere nearby. Next came McKay with the life signs detector, and Sheppard had their six.

"I have an idea," McKay said, breaking the silence. "Next time we hunt a Wraith in the desert, let's not do it at night. I'm freezing."

"You'd rather hunt a Wraith in the desert during the day?" Ronon asked, barely glancing over his shoulder. "Yeah, that sounds like a great plan."

"It's the Gobi desert. It doesn't get that – _got him!_" McKay apparently pointed in the direction of the Wraith's life sign because Sheppard said, "Two o'clock. Those boulders."

Sheppard came forward to lead the team fast and low across the barren, rocky plain leaving McKay at the rear. The Wraith would see them coming no matter how quickly and quietly they approached. Best case scenario, they avoided stunner blasts before they were within weapons range. Worst case, it was drawing them closer so it could trigger its self-destruct. Either way, they couldn't take the risk and let the Wraith survive long enough to make it to civilization.

Silent hand signals from Sheppard directed Teyla and Ronon to flank the Wraith while he went in straight on. Ronon came around the dark rocks, pointing his gun at the Wraith in unison with Teyla on the other side. It's dark shape lay on the ground, breathing heavily, but not moving. Starvation must have addled it's mind if it thought they were going to fall for that after fighting the Wraith so long.

Sheppard flipped on the light of his P-90 and pointed it at the Wraith's chest. In the beam of light, they could see black facial markings like crescent moons on the slick green skin around its yellow eyes. It's lips pulled back over long, pointed crystalline teeth, and it's breath came in reverberating gasps. A sheen of dust the color of the desert rocks coated its black clothes and long white hair.

"You don't look so good," Sheppard said.

The Wraith hissed. "Then kill me."

"Okay." Ronon powered his energy weapon for a killing blast, but Sheppard signaled him to wait. He didn't lower the gun, but he didn't squeeze the trigger either.

"You hesitate?" The Wraith laughed. "More Wraith made it to Earth. You want me to tell you where they are. If I tell you, will you spare my life?"

"That's the standard deal."

The Wraith made a low sound in its throat, almost like a human would murmur _hmm_. Ronon's trigger finger itched for it to say no, to attack, but it disappointed him. "Very well."

On the walk back to the puddle jumper and while Sheppard and Teyla fixed the special cuffs around the Wraith's waist and strapped down its arms, Ronon kept the alien just in front of him, gun pointed at its back. He hated these deals Earth humans kept making with the Wraith, and he wanted nothing more than an excuse to kill this creature. The whole flight back to Atlantis, he sat with his chair facing the rear, and his gun balanced on his knee.

The Wraith pretended to stare straight ahead at the opposite wall, but Ronon saw it's furtive glances and the hunger in it's cat's-slit eyes. It's fingers twitched, testing the bonds that held the feeding maw in its palm pressed against it's own thigh. He would have to kill the Wraith before this was over, that much he knew.

o o o

Cassandra stood in front of Mr. Woolsey's office at seven o'clock sharp. Her base uniform crisp and tablet computer powered up in her arms, she was ready to begin work bright and early. This knack for punctuality had been beaten into her during the first semester of law school. Whereas art professors were inclined to forgive late students, professors of law had no such compunction.

"Good morning, Mr. Woolsey."

The expedition leader looked up sharply from the computer he had been scanning. He looked suspicious for a moment, and then his face cleared with a smile. "Good Morning, Miss Fraiser. Today is a busy day so I'll need you to the hit the ground running."

She pressed three keys on the touch screen and followed him into the office. "SGs -9 and -18 are prepping to disembark at 0730 for P1D-090 to continue negotiations. Colonel Reynolds checked in early at 0400 because the locals on P22-28X are taking SG-3 to see the Goa'uld ruins ten clicks inland from the gate. That message was relayed to General Landry at Stargate Command. As for Atlantis teams, AR-5 returned at 0625 and reported there was no ZPM on P9A-Y84. AR-1 is on route home from the Gobi desert with a Wraith on board."

"Colonel Sheppard is bringing another Wraith here?"

"Yes. Unless you want to contact him and divert to Area 51?"

Woolsey considered. "I'm not sure having two Wraith in the city is a good idea. From what we know of their psychic network, it's likely they'll be able to communicate in such close proximity. Have General Landry arrange to hold the other Wraith at Area 51. Is there anything else?"

"You have a briefing with the IOA at 1300. Helen Lackey sent a message saying video conference will be fine. Dr. Zelenka is concerned that the reconstruction on the level above the physics lab is interfering with their shielding and wants permission to run tests there this morning. The botany department is beginning experiments on crossbreeding Milky Way and Pegasus plants in Greenhouse B, which they are securing by keycard in case anything goes wrong." She produced a keycard for Mr. Woolsey. "And Dr. McKay wants a word or, very likely in his case, a thousand when he's back in the city."

"Tell Dr. Zelenka to proceed, but I want a botanist to come and explain these experiments before they actually begin. And, Miss Fraiser, how did you get all of this information on your first day?"

"I sent out a memo last night introducing myself and directing certain topics to me. I expect some people will still come directly to you, but I'll do my best to intercept them." At his stunned expression, she added, "You may have hired me for my origins and security clearance, Mr. Woolsey, but I did graduate top of my class."

"You just seemed so reluctant to take this job."

"I'm not saying that's changed, but I did take the job, and I'm going to do it to the best of my ability." She sighed lightly. "The documents you shared with me are clear enough, aren't they? She wanted this for me, so I'm trying. I owe her that much."

"I didn't intend to – "

"Yes, you did. But it's okay. I wouldn't have known otherwise." Cassandra had had enough of this talk. The minutes were ticking by, and already she had a list of e-mails and a memo to draft. "Also, I've chosen as my office this corner of the control room." She indicated a tabletop where spare laptops had been stored until fifteen minutes ago when she asked Chuck to move them. "It's out of the way, but I can still intercept anyone attempting to barge into your office. If that's all, Mr. Woolsey?"

"One more question: how did you guess exactly what I would want you to do?"

"I watch _The West Wing_. Donna Moss is my hero," she deadpanned.

o o o

The last of the morning e-mails had been sent when Chuck announced AR-1 approached in a puddle jumper. Cassandra had received no reply yet from General Landry's executive officer except to say the General was in touch with Area 51 and to standby for more information.

"Tell him to go ahead and land, but I want a team of marines guarding Todd and this Wraith at all times. If they show any signs of causing trouble, any at all, they are to use whatever force necessary to eliminate the threat," Mr. Woolsey said.

Cassandra joined him at the console as Chuck relayed the orders. "I've never actually seen a Wraith. We're not – I mean, are you going to meet Colonel Sheppard's team."

"As a matter of fact, I am."

She swallowed thickly, but grabbed her tablet off its dock and followed down the stairs and into the gate room. Colonel Sheppard and his team emerged from the jumper bay transporter, presumably with the Wraith, but Cassandra was too short to see over the heads of the SG teams gathered and awaiting their departures and the SFs guarding the gate.

It happened so quickly, Cassandra never quite knew what happened. Someone ahead lurched to the side, knocking down Mr. Woolsey. A streak of black and white tackled a gate technician carrying a heavy toolkit and sent her flying to the floor. The woman screamed as she went down, and suddenly, there it was in front of Cassandra: a male Wraith, straining at the bonds pinning his arms to his sides.

Vaguely, she heard voices shouting commands like 'move' and 'get down' and the sounds of bullets clicking into firing chambers. But all Cassandra could see was the Wraith's arm twist, his palm go flat against the technician's chest. She gasped and let the tablet clatter to the ground. Just as she had done eight years ago when Nirrti appeared so unexpectedly by her hospital bed, she reacted purely instinctively.

Her foot kicked out at the Wraith and caught him on the collar bone. His head jerked up, hissing in anger more than pain. She saw on his face a primal hunger more terrifying than any Goa'uld. He did not see her as a potential fiery host or misbehaved slave, but like a piece of food gone off. Two bursts of red energy hit the Wraith in the back, and he toppled over.

SFs rushed forward to help the technician to the infirmary, but Cassandra stood frozen in place staring wide-eyed at the fallen Wraith. It felt like only a moment, but then she became aware of a Scottish voice speaking close to her ear and a hand on her upper arm.

"Come on. Let's go to the infirmary, Cassandra."

"No, that's not necessary, Dr. Beckett."

She didn't look at the doctor, however, but straight ahead at the man holding a particle magnum. He was tall, standing at least a full head over her, and wore an expression almost like joy, like killing this Wraith was the most fun he'd had in ages. He nodded once to her, either to say 'good work' or 'you're welcome.' She wasn't sure which.

"Oh, I really think you should come with me, love," Dr. Beckett insisted. "You've had a nasty shock."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

She retrieved her computer from the floor before someone stepped on it and saw General Landry's executive officer had gotten permission for the Wraith to be held at Area 51. She couldn't help it; she started to laugh. And that was when Dr. Beckett and Mr. Woolsey each took her by one arm and led her to the infirmary.

It took Cassandra a quarter of an hour to explain the e-mail, not shock, had made her laugh. Dr. Beckett still didn't look convinced when she walked out of the infirmary and promised he would be by the control room to check on her in an hour.

The Wraith had been removed from the gate room, and the SFs had returned to their posts. Colonel Sheppard and his team stood around Mr. Woolsey's office talking animatedly. Cassandra slipped inside unobtrusively and jotted down notes on the touch screen with the stylus.

" … were as tight as we could make them. Maybe one-size-fits-all doesn't apply to the Wraith. Did anyone think of that?" Colonel Sheppard said heatedly.

"There are too many people in the gate room," Ronon Dex added, talking over everyone else. Cassandra recognized him from his personnel file now that Beckett's sedative had nullified the adrenaline making her head spin. "No one could get a clear shot."

"I must agree with Ronon. The city has become far too congested in certain areas. Atlantis is quite large, and there is no reason every team must convene in the gate room a half hour prior to departing. Carissa never would have been in danger if the departure and arrival protocols had been followed."

Cassandra's eyes flicked to Mr. Woolsey to see how he could receive Teyla's gentle criticism. Sam had told her how much he liked following the rules. He seemed to take it well, though was clearly troubled by it as well.

"I hope that task becomes easier now that my assistant has arrived. Speaking of which." He turned to her, instantly drawing the attention of Sheppard's whole team. "Cassandra Fraiser, may I introduce Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Dr. Rodney McKay, Teyla Emmagen, and Ronon Dex."

"We have heard a lot about you from Samantha and Dr. Jackson," Teyla said, with a genuine smile. "We are glad to have you on Atlantis."

"Dr. Jackson," Rodney said, with a derisive laugh. "But, umm, Samantha said you're her goddaughter. Are you her niece or …? Because you kind of look like her with the hair and the nose."

Cassandra wondered if he was actually suggesting what it sounded like. "No, I'm Dr. Janet Fraiser's adopted daughter. I'm definitely not related to Sam by blood. But it's good to know, Rodney, that everything I've heard about you is true."

Rodney's team and Mr. Woolsey understood the backhanded statement for what it was sooner than he did. He smiled for a moment, and then raised his chin in defiance when the veiled insult penetrated his reputedly thick skull.

"Welcome to the team," Sheppard said on his way out the door. "Give me a minute to get out of my gear and then we'll talk about the military stuff you asked about."

Woolsey did a double take from his desk, and Cassandra did her best not to be offended that her initiative was so startling to him. She addressed Sheppard as if she'd noticed nothing. "Thank you, Colonel. I'll be on my radio when you're ready."

As he passed, Ronon gave her the same intense stare as he had in the gate room. She still couldn't decide what it meant, if he thought she was brave or stupid or ignorant for kicking a Wraith. She hesitated for a moment, and then hurried out of Woolsey's office to catch up.

"Ronon!" He turned, but said nothing. "I never said … Thank you. I know the Wraith's hands were bound, but something tells me he could have done a lot of damage anyway."

"Yeah, it could have."

Cassandra forced a friendly smile. "Subtle correction noted."

"Okay then."

She went back to her desk thinking Teal'c had been utterly and completely beat in the 'hardest person in the universe to read' category.

o o o

The end of the day didn't arrive until nearly eight o'clock that night. Cassandra had grown used to incredibly long days during law school, but a great difference existed between voluntary study marathons and a work day. For one, if a paper topic proved problematic, she had been free to set it aside and come back to it later. No such deferral was possible now.

When Dr. Beauchene wanted to file a complaint about Dr. Yal, she had to listen to his diatribe and try to find some semblance of logic in the bilingual rant. When Colonel Reynolds keyed in a code red with his IDC, all work stopped until SG-3 was safely home, and then Cassandra had to oversee a damage assessment of the gate room. Each time she was called away from her computer for the slightest reason, she came back to find twenty more e-mails waiting, all demanding a meeting with Mr. Woolsey. One day, and she had already begun to regret her introductory e-mail.

The only easy exchanges during the entire day had come when Colonel Sheppard radioed her to ask if she wanted to eat while they talked about military protocols and when Dr. Beckett came to see that she had not been lying about recovering fine from the Wraith incident. Sheppard was so laid back and easy to converse with Cassandra almost forgot he was military at all, and she thought it was simply impossible not to think kindly of Carson – as he'd invited her to call him.

At last, all scheduled teams had gone off world or returned and any messages flagged as important by their sender had been responded to (although Cassandra did not agree with that classification for half of the requests). She retreated to her room hoping for a quiet night of sketching the city from her window or a challenging Sudoku puzzle to help her unwind.

Cassandra was surprised when the door chime alerted her to a visitor when she was three complete rows into a 'diabolical' Sudoku game. Jennifer stood at the threshold and held up a bottle of wine.

"I hear you had a rough day."

She laughed. "Dr. Beauchene sure can rant, but I don't think he knows I'm fluent in French. Oh, and the Wraith was scary too," she joked. "I guess you took Sam at her word, huh? Do you want to come in?"

"Actually, I wondered if you want to come to movie night."

Watching a movie in a room full of people who had hounded her all day did not fit Cassandra's notion of a relaxing evening. Even so, these were Sam's friends and sequestering herself in her quarters wouldn't make her job any easier. These people were clearly a social bunch, and although she was not at all, she would have to learn if she wanted to make friends.

"Sure. Let's watch a movie. Is there a schedule for picking movies or do we arm wrestle for it?"

"Oh, God, no! Ronon would make us watch _First Blood_ every week. But since it is his turn, we'll probably have to watch it anyway." The doctor laughed good-naturedly and made a face. Rambo, apparently, wasn't her style of fun.

Jennifer led the way to a large room in one of the lower levels of the east tower. She called it the east tower, but Cassandra was sure there were at least six towers on the eastern side of the city. Movies had previously been watched in a room off Stargate operations, apparently, but their popularity had grown until some scientists rigged up a mini-movie theater in this room.

A large crowd had already gathered, including Colonel Sheppard, Ronon, Carson, Dr. Zelenka, Teyla and Kanaan, and Colby. Cassandra greeted the young marine, and he indicated that she should sit next to him. Jennifer sat on her other side, and when Rodney rushed into the room, he sat down next to her and immediately launched into a dramatic retelling of his day after the Wraith attack.

"Are they …," Cassandra asked Colby. The marine nodded, almost grimly, she thought. "Wow. Didn't see that coming."

At nine o'clock, Rodney called everyone to attention by asking loudly, "Can we get this started, please? I'd love to stay up all night watching what's-his-face kill people, but I have important work waiting for me."

Sheppard tossed a DVD case to Ronon, _First Blood_, apparently, but the Satedan didn't stick it into the DVD player. He twisted in his chair to look at Cassandra and said, "Whatever you want."

She hesitated for a minute. "You don't have to let me pick just because I'm new."

"I'm not. I'm letting you pick because you kicked a Wraith in the face."

"Collarbone, actually."

"Yeah, whatever. You attacked a Wraith without a weapon. Pick a movie."

Rodney shifted in his seat and looked expectantly at Cassandra. No one seemed to find it at all an odd reward for doing something as incredibly stupid as kicking a starving alien that fed off humans while unarmed. Jennifer shrugged, as if to say 'That's Ronon.' Cassandra found the DVDs on a shelf at the front of the room and quickly scanned the cases.

The title screen of _Starship Troopers_ earned a round of chortles. As Cassandra took her seat, pausing to thank Ronon on the way, she felt that with one simple decision – which movie to watch – she had been welcomed to the team.


	5. Portrait of the Painter

**CHAPTER FIVE  
ARRANGEMENT IN GRAY, PORTRAIT OF THE PAINTER**

Time flowed in strange ways in the city of Atlantis. Cassandra arrived at Mr. Woolsey's office every morning at seven, and before she knew it, the sun had set without her knowledge. Work was not confined to traditional hours, however. She often awoke in the middle of the night to alarms and urgent calls from the control room.

It surprised her how comfortable the IOA had become using Atlantis resources to carry out Milky Way missions. They routinely required the use of puddle jumpers and life signs detectors. The nonchalance in making these demands caused her to wonder if Atlantis would ever return to Pegasus or if the IOA had abandoned the humans in that galaxy entirely. Although they had ostensibly changed no operations or command structure in the city, she saw it coming in the underhanded way they slowly leeched Atlantis personnel and technology away from the primary objective of the expedition.

The bedlam in Stargate operations had lessened somewhat since the Wraith broke loose and attacked, but some SG teams still insisted on gathering too early. That was practice in the SGC maybe, but it had almost cost a life in Atlantis. Cassandra had one altercation with Major Danvers of SG-22 when he assembled his team on the steps between the control room and gate room.

"We're scheduled to leave at 1330," Danvers had protested when Cassandra asked him to take his team back to the ready room.

"Yes, I have the schedule, Major. I also have a watch that says it's only 1305." The glib reply hadn't done her any favors, she saw that in hindsight. "Right now, AR-3 is leaving. Chuck will radio you to assemble when the gate room is clear." She had turned to go back to her desk, another action that the Major hadn't taken well.

"What do you know about safety protocols? You've been here for, what, a week?"

"I know," she replied, giving her attention to him again, "that Mr. Woolsey and Colonel Sheppard agreed on the new policy. That's good enough for me."

The reminder that Colonel Sheppard had issued an order was enough to get Danvers moving back to the ready room. In retrospect, she wished she had argued the point better instead of falling back on the chain of command to get results. The swarm of work, however, drove the thought from her mind. She had barely enough time to manage her work, let alone go back and revisit what had already been accomplished.

In her limited down time, Cassandra sent e-mails to friends with security clearance letting them know how she found Atlantis. Mostly, those e-mails were filled with platitudes and vague statements. She had not actually had time to really think about her feelings about the Stargate program since her arrival. To former classmates who did not have clearance, she stuck to her cover story and pretended to hate working for the US Patent Office.

Whenever she could, Cassandra took her sketch pad and pencils out to one of the piers. She lay on the cold, and often damp, ground with her neck craned up while she outlined the asymmetrical spires of Atlantis and let the infusion of alien colors seep into her mind. One day, she would be ready to paint this magnificent city, but first she had to learn to draw it. Occasionally, she found Major Lorne doing the same, although he tended not to get himself soaked by lying on the ground and had progressed to painting several years ago. He also preferred the bird's-eye view of balconies, and she wondered if they ever made it into each other's works – she as a figure on the pier, he as shadow on the balcony.

Girls' Poker Night came around eventually after being postponed twice for off world emergencies. Cassandra had missed a weekly chess match with Sam as well, so when Jennifer called for her over the radio to say it was still on, she was more than ready for a game of strategy. The luck portion of cards usually failed her, but she did enjoy playing ratios.

"Cassandra, welcome." Teyla offered her a chair around the octagonal table. The pale white surface in the center reminded her of Ancient crystal interfaces, and the room they gathered in looked suspiciously like a science lab. "It is a room Rodney declared 'pointless' soon after coming to Atlantis."

"So no one is likely to barge in and disturb us."

"Precisely."

In addition to herself and Teyla, five other women joined the game. Teyla introduced an Athosian woman as Eiri, and Cassandra knew Alison Porter and Dusty Mehra already. Jennifer and Marie came in late with bowls full of snacks and drinks. It seemed a small number considering all the women in the city, but Cassandra knew the hours everyone put in here and how difficult it was to find a stopping point for the day.

Dusty took up the cards and shuffled expertly while Marie handed out the chips. Cassandra's first hand summed up the way poker games always went for her: two threes, king, jack, and four, all of different suits. Steeling herself for spectacular losses, she called the bet.

"So how is that elbow doing, Alison?" Jennifer asked with a teasing note in her voice. "I'd know better if you didn't always come have it looked at when a certain other doctor is on duty."

The young scientist shook back the curtains of brown hair off her shoulders and raised the bet. "It's healed and has been for weeks," she answered shamelessly.

"You know, I don't get you two," Dusty waved a hand between Alison and Jennifer. "McKay, Beckett? Seriously?"

"Everyone is entitled to their own type," Cassandra said, a little defensively, which drew raised eyebrows all around the table. "What?"

"Does your … _type_ have a name we would recognize?" Teyla asked. Her smile was barely contained.

"I wasn't talking about …. My mom, she dated Daniel Jackson back before Teal'c introduced him to the concept of free weights."

Marie won the hand and took over shuffling duty.

"But what about you? Do you have someone waiting in Chicago?"

Cassandra gave a dry laugh. "Me? No, definitely not. I've tried that before, and it really didn't work. I'm more of a solitary creature."

"You are quite young to have made that choice," Teyla said quietly. "Anyway, I do not believe we are made to be solitary. Surely you have experienced the joy that comes from belonging to a community."

"We are what we've been made into," Cassandra replied. If they expected more from her, they were sorely disappointed. She had no intention of getting into the finer details – or any details at all – of her past with people she barely knew. Even Jack and Sam knew to stay well away from the subject.

"Are you still doing sparring lessons, Teyla?" Alison asked. The transition did not sound as abrupt as it might have because she added, "As Jennifer so subtly pointed out, now that my elbow is better, I'm ready to come back."

"Yes, we still meet every Sunday morning. You are welcome to join us, Cassandra."

She recognized Teyla's olive branch for what it was. "Sunday morning beatings. Sign me up."

o o o

Sunday morning rolled around much more quickly than Cassandra anticipated. Part of her wished the day had never arrived. She didn't feel particularly violent towards anyone; even anger was a rare emotion for her. The last time she had done any kind of fight training had been years ago when Sam and her mom insisted she learn self-defense. Learning how to ward off muggers was one thing, but Teyla's sparring would be more deadly than stomping on an instep.

All the same, she reported to the gym as promised after her daily run. The medium-sized room used for sparring faced the open ocean through red and orange stained glass. The floor had been padded with gray foam mats, but was otherwise bare. Jennifer and Alison sat on the window seats with their backs to the glass rummaging through black duffel bags while Colonel Sheppard and Ronon hopped around on one leg.

"Is this what we're learning to do?" Cassandra asked incredulously.

"This is Satedan sparring rules," Jennifer explained. "Teyla is teaching us something more … practical."

Sheppard shouted as he got whacked in his last good leg and fell onto the padded floor. Ronon had his flag in hand and waved it over his team leader to emphasize his victory, which Cassandra could only assume occurred regularly.

"Anyone want to take the winner?" Ronon asked. Jennifer and Alison shook their heads with amused expressions forming smiles. "What about you, Cassandra? You're a fighter. I can tell."

He tossed Sheppard's claimed flag to her, and she caught it instinctively. "I'm not a fighter."

Teyla arrived a few minutes later with apologies. Torren had thrown a fit over breakfast, and it had taken some coaxing to convince him that his mother was not amused. Sheppard and Ronon took seats along the row of windows, giving the floor over to Teyla.

"Would you, perhaps, like to begin first, Cassandra?"

The Athosian made the offer sound like something generous. Handing the flag back to Ronon, Cassandra joined Teyla on the mat unsure of what to expect, yet assuming she would not like what happened over the next few minutes.

First, Teyla walked her through a series of poses. Block high with the right arm, low with the left arm, pivot to the right, and extend the left arm. It was really very simple, and Cassandra picked it up on the third time through. Teyla began to move faster, and still Cassandra kept pace.

"I didn't pick it up that fast. Did you?" Jennifer asked. Alison didn't reply aloud, and Cassandra didn't look over to see if she nodded or shook her head.

Still faster Teyla moved, and it was becoming more difficult to match her speed and keep the movements right. Then, Teyla made a move not part of the routine. Instead of coming at Cassandra's torso on the final movement, she aimed for her neck. Cassandra caught her wrist inches before she grabbed her throat.

"Very good," Teyla praised.

Releasing Teyla's wrist, Cassandra retreated a few steps. She gave a nervous little laugh and glanced sidelong at their spectators. "Beginner's luck." They didn't look particularly convinced 'beginner's luck' allowed anyone to block Teyla's attack.

"Shall we go again?"

The two women began the sparring routine again. This time Teyla moved like lightening, and Cassandra only managed to keep up. Instead of pausing between sets, she moved from the last pose directly back into the first. Cassandra missed beats and received sharp jabs in her sides three times. Growing frustrated, she decided to try an improvised move of her own. She swung out with an upturned palm in a shallow arch. The blow clipped Teyla's chin.

Sheppard and Ronon were on their feet, matching looks of mingled shock and delight on their faces. Cassandra felt shell-shocked even as Teyla offered her a chagrined smile.

"I have underestimated you, Cassandra," she said. "But you did not say you had trained in hand-to-hand combat before."

"Where did you learn that move? And don't you dare say 'beginner's luck' again," Sheppard ordered.

She hedged for a minute, but could see they wouldn't take a weak answer again. "It's muscle memory, I guess. Okay, fine. Sam taught me self-defense. And maybe Teal'c taught me a few Jaffa moves when I was younger."

"Then let us spar one more time," Teyla proposed, "and we will see how much of his lessons you have retained."

Cassandra felt her back on the padded mat four times before she begged Teyla to have a little compassion and stop for the day. She limped over to the window bench and lowered herself gingerly onto the wood surface. Everything from her forehead to toes throbbed. She had paid dearly for omitting her scant prior training.

After a few moments of wincing and watching Alison practice with Teyla, Cassandra became aware of eyes watching her intensely. She glanced over to see Ronon staring at her with some kind of smirk half hidden by his goatee.

"Told you you were a fighter."

o o o

After the sparring session (during which no one got hurt nearly as badly as Cassandra, except maybe Sheppard who had fought with Ronon), the informal band of trainers went to the infirmary to meet Carson and Rodney for lunch. Cassandra hadn't enjoyed a meal with such a large group since she'd taken meals in the cafeteria of Cheyenne Mountain High School. The nostalgia relaxed her, and allowed her to appreciate the gentle jests made at her expense.

"Well, since Jennifer thinks my injuries are humorous, I guess I'll just make sure Carson is in the infirmary whenever I need a doctor," she joked back.

The conversation turned to all the times Rodney had injured himself on missions when the astrophysicist tried to claim he could hold his own in a fight. Cassandra laughed along with the rest of this group she felt were quickly becoming as much her friends as they were Sam's.

"I'm going to teach you Satedan fighting."

Cassandra did a double take. The conversation at Rodney's expense continued uninterrupted by Ronon's declaration.

"Umm, Ronon, I'm not sure …. Am I built for your style of fighting?"

"You learned Jaffa fighting." He shrugged. "You're too small for that. And that punch you threw at Teyla, that's definitely not like Athosian fighting. Or Jaffa fighting. Are you sure Teal'c taught you that?"

"It's meant to be done with a staff weapon in hand."

Ronon stared off into the middle distance, clearly picturing what it would look like with the large, unwieldy Jaffa weapon of choice. He nodded appreciatively. "But you're too small to carry one of those things around. I'll teach you to use a knife."

"Whoa, whoa. I don't want to kill anybody."

"Not even a Wraith? Not even a Goa'uld?" Cassandra felt herself go still, and a feeling like ice water trickling over skin spread outward from her heart. "That's what I thought. You tell me where Goa'uld are vulnerable, and I'll show you how to kill it."

She should have begged off or outright refused, but she didn't. Part of her wondered what it would feel like, to taste revenge against the aliens that had enslaved and slaughtered millions of humans. And immediately after that fleeting thought, she felt nauseous and shaky.

The radio buzzing in her ear startled her. "Miss Fraiser, this is Mr. Woolsey. Please report to my office immediately. An IOA representative is about to beam in, and I need your assistance."

Cassandra glanced down at her track suit, and then touched her earpiece. "I'll be right there." To the lunch table, she excused herself and hurried to her room to take the quickest shower of her life and change into her base uniform. So much for taking Sunday off.

o o o

The IOA representative arrived less than three minutes after Cassandra rushed into Mr. Woolsey's office. He looked none too pleased, but it became clear that it was the impending visit and not her tardiness that put him a mood.

"They like to do this, just show up out of the blue. They act like they're going to catch us doing something suspect." He paced around his office fussing over his inbox and alignment of his pens.

"They won't find anything amiss in the city, sir. I'll just radio Dr. McKay and tell him to remove the goat from the stasis pod."

Mr. Woolsey spun on his heel, expressions flashing from shock to panic to defeat in an instant. "I see you've adopted General O'Neill's sense of humor."

The white Asgard beam transported a tall, slender, middle-aged woman into the gate room. She had a handsome square face just beginning to show age lines. Her auburn hair was swept back in a low ponytail, and she wore a deep red business suit. As Cassandra and Mr. Woolsey came down the stairs to greet her, she observed their base uniforms with barely concealed superiority.

"Hello, Helen. It's good to see you again. May I introduce my executive assistant, Cassandra Fraiser. Miss Fraiser, Helen Lackey, IOA Human Resources Director."

The woman turned cool amber eyes on Cassandra and said nothing for a long minute. When she did speak, it was with an affected English accent. "Ah, yes, your recruit. Although you really should have gone through my office to hire an assistant. Is there someplace more private we can speak or do you hold all your conferences in the embarkation room?"

Cassandra decided instantly she did not like Helen Lackey. Aside from her frosty manner, anyone who called the gate room the embarkation room came off as out of touch with daily operations and too pretentious to be allowed. If Cassandra didn't like the woman, she could only imagine how insufferable Jack found her.

Once inside Mr. Woolsey's office, Cassandra closed the glass door. The other woman looked surprised an assistant would be joining them, but Mr. Woolsey only gazed at her levelly. Cassandra took out her stylus and poised her hand over the screen to take notes. At last, Lackey began explaining why she had come to Atlantis.

"We have reviewed several recent mission reports from SG and AR teams, and we're concerned about the management of pre-mission routines. Specifically, several team leaders have criticized the manner in which teams assemble in the gate room. Or, rather, how they are not permitted to do so."

"Recently, we have changed the policy, but it was for the safety of the base. One of our people nearly died because the gate room and surrounding areas were too crowded. As you can see, it is much more orderly now. Forgive me, Helen, but the IOA doesn't usually send such a senior official to address a few complaints. Is there some other reason you've come to see us?"

"As a matter of fact," she said coldly, "the IOA does take seriously the complaints of commanding officers in whose hands falls the security of Earth. You're lucky Colonel Sheppard supported your decision and the complaint came from one of his subordinates. You are, as you know, Dick, on shaky ground."

"_One_ of his subordinates? Please tell me that you're not here to scold me over one disgruntled team member. But as for our luck, Helen, I would say we're lucky Ronon has a weapon with a stun setting that can be fired into a crowd with relative safety."

He didn't comment about Lackey's appraisal of his job performance at all, and Cassandra's level of respect for the man went up several notches. The track record of Atlantis expedition leaders was not promising, and it would have been too easy to retort. The IOA seemed to view them as dispensable, but really the person in command set the tone for the entire expedition.

"If there's nothing else …," Mr. Woolsey concluded. Cassandra had to literally bite her tongue to keep any kind of smug smile forming.

Before Lackey departed, she gave Cassandra one final scrutinizing look. The younger woman stood up straight and kept her face passive, though every part of her wanted to squirm under that unforgiving gaze.

"Congratulations on winning the job," Lackey said, without even feigning warmth, "and on making it into your first Atlantis mission report. Of course, your file with the SGC is already quite … _thorough_."

Cassandra stayed rooted to the spot until Lackey had gone back to the gate room to beam back to Washington. As the Head of HR, she had full access to Cassandra's file, of course, and knew everything about her, from the very beginning.

She had never been hated for her origins – so few people knew about it anyway – until now. Part of her had always known the day would come when someone feared or despised her for things she had no control over. She had watched it happen to Teal'c and knew her time would come someday. Now that it had happened, she felt a wash of chilly nerves, a creeping sense of shame, and burning anger.

All that she had denied about herself had come back because she joined the Stargate program. She should have known it would be the catalyst. She never should have accepted this job. There was no place she wanted to be less than Atlantis.


	6. The Transcendental

**CHAPTER SIX  
SYMPHONY NO. 1, THE TRANSCENDENTAL**

The puddle jumper zipped through the cloudy upper atmosphere of Earth with the HUD tracking a Wraith transponder beacon moving sluggishly down the African continent. McKay's best guess was that a lone Wraith had left its crashed dart and now walked toward the nearest village across the Serengeti.

"What about golf?" Sheppard asked, bringing up a subject that had died ten minutes ago.

"I told you," Ronon repeated, glancing over his shoulder. "I have plans."

"Yeah, but you didn't say what plans."

Rodney sighed melodramatically and scowled at Sheppard like he was a misbehaving three-year-old. Teyla fixed her sight on the HUD and tried to block out the repetitive back-and-forth that consumed their entire flight from Atlantis to the western coast of Africa.

"He's teaching Cassie to beat people's brains in, Satedan style," Rodney said, exasperation in every syllable. "So can we please stop this childish conversation and focus on more important things like finding and killing this Wraith?"

"Cassie, huh?" Sheppard asked, grinning.

"Like you, I do not believe Ronon's interest is purely martial," Teyla teased. The Satedan looked away from his team, but smiled good-naturedly.

Within the half hour, the puddle jumper approached the Wraith's coordinates and Sheppard landed the spaceship half a click to the west. They gained the rest of the distance on foot, sweating under the blistering African sun.

"This is terrible," Rodney whined. "Five minutes, and I can already feel my skin burning."

"You know what this reminds me of?" Ronon asked, ignoring his team mate's complaints entirely.

"I am thinking of the first time we all met," Teyla said. Up ahead, Sheppard nodded his agreement.

Four years ago, Ronon had taken Sheppard and Teyla hostage on a planet with intense ultraviolet sunlight as a bargaining chip to get past the Atlantis marines guarding the gate. That same day, Carson had removed the transmitter from Ronon's back and ended his life as a Runner. Harsh sunlight always put him in a good mood now.

As they closed in on the Wraith's position, the team fanned out over the flat terrain. The calf-high brown grass and sparse, flat-topped trees gave them little cover. Woolsey had told them a little about the types of animals in this part of Earth, but Ronon saw no sign of them now. Whatever kind of predators they were, they had clearly sensed something much higher on the food chain around.

Rodney had the life signs detector and hand signaled the Wraith's location. Peering ahead, Ronon saw a blotch of black moving through the stunted vegetation.

"Oh no." Rodney stared at the white rectangle in hand and paled under the bright red flush on his cheeks. "No, no, no."

"What?" Ronon demanded.

"I'm picking up more life signs – twenty at least, moving fast in this direction. From their speed and trajectory, I'm guessing we have a safari tour wondering where all the lions and giraffes are and about to encounter a famished Wraith."

Ronon needed no direction from Sheppard. He sprang forward and sprinted across the plain toward the blurry black spot on the horizon. Angry memories propelled him forward. The adrenaline of hunting a Wraith kicked into overdrive, and he picked up his pace to outdistance even Sheppard and Teyla running at full tilt behind him.

He gained steadily on the Wraith, and while normally it might have turned back to fight and try to feed, the alien creature sensed an even greater opportunity ahead. With a cry of rage, Ronon pushed his legs to pump faster than since he had quit being a Runner. Particle magnum out, set to kill, he fired steadily at the Wraith's retreating back.

A blast hit the Wraith, it stopped moving in mid-step, and then toppled to the sun-baked earth. Ronon ran straight past the dead creature, his adrenaline still up, and walked off the heady surge of rage while Sheppard and Teyla inspected the fallen Wraith.

"We have to find the dart so we can take care of the wreckage before some tourists or locals stumble across it and dematerialize themselves," Sheppard announced. "We'll do that from the air. Let's head back to the puddle jumper."

They couldn't leave the Wraith to rot in the sun, although it deserved nothing better, or someone would notice the decaying alien corpse. Nor could they set fire to it in this dry country. Ronon seized it by one arm and dragged it back to the puddle jumper leaving a wide swath of crushed grass and clumps of white hair in his wake.

"Lovely, a Wraith corpse," Rodney said. Apparently, Sheppard had ordered him back to the puddle jumper when they chased down the Wraith. He unhooked his tablet from the control crystals in the jumper ceiling, took a seat in the co-pilot's chair, and plugged the computer back in. "I've reconfigured the sensors to pick up the energy signature of the dart and contacted the _Daedalus_ in orbit. Caldwell said to paint the target, and they'll beam it to Area 51."

Sheppard took the jumper into the sky and engaged the cloak. Flying invisibly through the clear cerulean sky, the sensors searched for the Wraith ship. It was a matter of minutes before the wreckage had been found and Colonel Caldwell's voice over the radio confirmed transport to Area 51.

"Thanks, _Daedalu_s. We're headed back to Atlantis."

o o o

For once, the post-mission debriefing hadn't taken long. Night had fallen by the time the team had returned to Atlantis in the puddle jumper, and everyone including Woolsey was eager to call it a night and get some sleep. Everyone, it seemed, except Cassandra who returned to her desk in the control room immediately after the debriefing adjourned.

"Hey."

Cassandra looked up from the computer and offered Ronon a tight-lipped smile. She had been quiet in the conference room too. She stood up from her desk again with an armload of file folders stamped with the SGC logo.

"Hi, Ronon. I'm headed to the infirmary to turn these over to Carson."

"Want some company?"

"Sure."

They walked in silence out of the control room and to the transporter. It took Cassandra two steps to match one of his own, and he noticed for the first time how small she really was: about Teyla's height, but with none of the muscle. There was still a quality about her that convinced Ronon she was a fighter. He saw it in the set of her mouth and her firm gaze.

"It's almost one in the morning. Why are you working so late?" he asked.

"These are copies of Dr. Lam's medical notes and research on a Goa'uld called Khalek. Carson requested the files. I also have to put together a briefing on P3C-39C for Mr. Woolsey and AR-5, somehow convince Dr. Hirsch to stop connecting the spare naquadah generators to all of his experiments, make sure all the mission reports for the week are ready for IOA review, and it all has to be done by seven am tomorrow."

"Sounds boring."

"Yeah, well, we're not all cut out to kill Wraith for a living."

"You are."

She looked up at him sharply, frown lines wrinkling her brow. "So you keep saying, but you're wrong about that, Ronon. I've never killed anything except bugs."

"Perfect. Wraith evolved from bugs."

They had reached the infirmary. Cassandra paused, cast him a sardonic smile, and said, "Good night, Ronon."

o o o

Ronon looked for Cassandra the following day to see if he could convince her to start Satedan knife fighting, but she wasn't at her desk or in Woolsey's office. Her quarters were empty, and no one had seen her in the gym. When he checked the infirmary, Jennifer suggested the east pier.

As she had predicted, Cassandra lay on the wet metal pier with a sketch pad propped up and covered in plastic before her. She held a green-wrapped pencil loosely in her left hand and glanced up frequently at the spires of Atlantis stretching into the overcast afternoon. Her lunch tray, completely untouched, lay forgotten off to the side. Ronon joined her on ground, ignoring the wet pier and the sea spray carried over the breaker by the strong wind.

"How long have you been an artist?"

Cassandra started so badly the pencil jerked in her hand and poked a hole through the sketch paper. She pushed herself up from the pier to sit on her knees with one hand clutching at her chest. With her free hand, she hit his upper arm in a gesture so casual it must have been a habit for her.

"Gods, Ronon! You can't sneak up on people like that."

He glanced from his arm to the woman who had so casually struck him. "There's not a lot of people in this city who would have hit me."

"What? Oh, sorry." She tossed the pencil down on the sketch pad and folded her legs under. She didn't look the slightest bit worried he would want revenge for the light punch on his arm. "I've been an artist my whole life. I even went to art school in Chicago, which is when I found out I'm not a particularly fantastic artist. So I went to law school. How long have you been a … soldier?"

"I stopped being a soldier a long time ago, but I've been fighting since I was a kid. Can I see?"

He held out his hand for the now ruined sketch of Atlantis. Reluctantly, Cassandra handed it over. He studied it for a moment, brow furrowing the longer he did. She had drawn the lines sharp and angular, although the city was full of rounded corners, so that the windows and balconies looked more like prison cells than graceful architecture. Deep shadows filled the painting from a dim light source in the lower left corner that did not match the afternoon sun's position.

"Is this how you see Atlantis?"

"It's just an artistic style, Ronon. There's no message in it." She took back the drawing and tucked it away inside the cover of the sketchbook.

"On Sateda, we called that austerism and only used it to paint Wraith ships. And there's always a message in art."

Cassandra's eyebrows arched dramatically. "Oh? So you were some kind of artist on Sateda? I find that hard to believe."

"Then reassess what you think about me because it's true." He leaned in close to say this, to emphasize the seriousness of it. "I was younger, and I didn't have time after we started resisting the Wraith. I probably wasn't very good."

"Ronon, I'm sorry. I didn't think about how everything must have changed." He started to say something, to explain, but stopped. "It's okay. You don't have to. I read everyone's personnel file before I came here."

The unspoken conversation hung in the air for a minute like the droplets of water swept up from the bay, and then Ronon changed the subject entirely.

"So where are you from?"

She showed the same reluctance she had when he asked to see her sketch of the city before answering. "I grew up in Colorado Springs. My mom was a doctor at the SGC. Then I moved to Chicago for art school and stayed there for law school. It's a fantastic city." She added as an afterthought, "I wish I could be there right now."

"So you do think Atlantis is a prison."

Her mouth worked silently, and she finally gave up trying to find the words to deny it. "I'm not sure I'm staying is all. I came here because Mr. Woolsey persuaded me. I don't know if it was kindness or manipulation, but either way, I think I might have made the wrong choice taking this job."

"Because it's boring?" She laughed shortly, as he had intended. "How'd he convince you?"

"Like I said, my mom worked at the SGC, so there are all kinds of documents from her: mission reports, e-mails. In one of her e-mails to Sam, she wrote something about me, just the kind of thing you write to your best friend and daughter's godmother. She said that she thought I would join the Stargate program as a physicist because I'm so good at math. It was so casual, like she never considered I would do anything else. She obviously wanted this for me."

"What do you want?" She only grinned ruefully. "That's what I thought."

"_Ronon, this is Sheppard. Come in_," called the team leader over the radio. Ronon touched his radio. "This is Ronon."

Cassandra gathered up her art supplies, making sure to carefully dry each pencil before sliding it back into the case, while Sheppard instructed Ronon to report to the gym to break in some new marines. They parted ways back inside the city, she to get dry clothes from her quarters and he to go to the gym.

"Good talk, Ronon," she said. "And if you have any examples, I'd love to see some Satedan art, austerism or not."

o o o

Cassandra took the transporter back to her room and changed into a fresh uniform before heading back to her desk. She needed to pay more attention to her clothes now she had a professional job, but her art school ways of wearing paint-splattered jeans and ratty t-shirts hadn't quite left her yet. It would only get worse when she progressed to oil paint on canvas.

On the way back to her desk, she stopped by the infirmary to make sure Carson had the files she had left on his desk. She had to wonder if the doctor had waited to request the files until someone other than Mr. Woolsey arranged to receive them. It might not be such a bad thing to remind their leader about Khalek, however, when another potential disaster was locked in the brig.

"Yes, I got them. Thank you very much, Cassie."

"You're welcome. Carson …" She wanted to say that Khalek had been a clone of Anubis and that was a far cry from being a clone of a kind-hearted man. She couldn't bring herself to say it. It would only open the door for questions about her own genetic history. "Never mind."

"See you at movie night," the doctor said. "It's my turn to pick, and I've got a good one in mind."

Cassandra smiled, but thought these people were just a little too social for her tastes. She'd hardly had a night to herself since arriving in the city. As the day wore on, however, she started to warm to the idea of movie night and being surrounded by people watching a film they had all seen multiple times before.

At every tiny lull in the day – waiting for an e-mail sent confirmation, listening for a response on the radio – her thoughts drifted to her conversation with Ronon. What she had thought was a good talk she now realized contained some glaring omissions. That is, she had not mentioned Hanka. Just thinking the name of her home world cause a dull ache to develop in her chest; what must have talking about Sateda done to him? She alone in the city could empathize, but she had said nothing at all.

Distracted and upset with herself, Cassandra quit working much earlier than normal. She paced around her quarters for an hour and tried to distract herself with sketching or Sudoku, but nothing helped take her mind off Ronon's question: _what do you want?_

She wanted to forget all the bad stuff forever, but remember the people who had helped her survive those tough times. She wanted to be like every other Earth-born 24-year-old without betraying the memories of the Hankan deceased. She wanted to be a good friend and show sympathy to Ronon, Carson, and Teyla, but not have to talk about her past. She wanted to be the daughter Janet Fraiser had wanted so badly, but have nothing to do with the Stargate program.

"Impossible," she told her reflection. "All of it. Impossible."


	7. Whistler's Mother

**CHAPTER SEVEN  
WHISTLER'S MOTHER**

Cassandra had come to greatly enjoy senior staff meetings. Although she only sat quietly in a chair beside Mr. Woolsey taking notes, she felt like an insider gleaning knowledge about every part of the Atlantis expedition from missions to literal nuts and bolts. She suspected, however, that only she and Mr. Woolsey actually enjoyed these daily sessions.

"One final order of business," Mr. Woolsey said, glancing down at the electronic agenda Cassandra had sent him early in the morning. "The IOA has replied to my request that Ronon and Teyla be allowed to have free movement in the United States. Unfortunately, they have declined that request. Ronon, Teyla, I'm sorry."

Cassandra glanced up from her computer to the two Pegasus natives. Ronon wore a mask of indifference except for the set of his eyes, and Teyla appeared disappointed, but resigned. A splinter of irritation wormed its way under her skin, and she saw Carson, Jennifer, and Sheppard took exception to the pronouncement as well.

"This is ridiculous," Sheppard said. "Ronon and Teyla have saved Earth more times than I can count. They know our ways, and they would be just fine walking around San Francisco or any other place in the country. Probably the world, considering we're international here."

"And I agree," Mr. Woolsey said, "but I can't overrule the entire IOA."

"Actually, you might be able to." All eyes turned to Cassandra. She had never spoken up in a senior staff meeting, and she felt a little uncertain about doing so now. "The IOA Charter was designed to appease many countries, and any document serving that end must have an appeals process built in or no democracy would sign."

"You're suggesting I convene an appeals board and plead Ronon and Teyla's case."

"That will not be necessary," Teyla said immediately. "Such an action would, I am sure, antagonize the IOA. I would not want to be responsible for causing any hardship on you, Mr. Woolsey, or to the Atlantis mission. I and all the Athosians are content to remain in the city."

"Ronon, what do you have to say?" Mr. Woolsey inquired.

"I've been on Earth before." He glanced at Colonel Sheppard and Rodney. "But whatever. I get to leave on missions. I'm fine."

Mr. Woolsey began to adjourn the meeting, which Cassandra knew meant it was time for her to be quiet and go back to her desk to summarize the minutes. She spoke before she really considered her words. "Teyla, Ronon, I'm sure we all appreciate that sentiment, but whether it will cause trouble is really beside the point. You risked your lives to save our planet, and actually Ronon _did_ die. The IOA has a pathetically low opinion of heroes not born on this planet, and I think it's time we show them evidence of their prejudice."

A moment of silence followed during which Mr. Woolsey studied Cassandra carefully, as if seeing her for the first time ever. Something seemed to occur to him because his face cleared and he nodded thoughtfully.

"For what it's worth," Carson said, "I agree with Cassie, and if this appeal process has any sort of character witnesses, I'd be happy to speak. In fact, you won't be able to keep me away."

A chorus of agreement travelled around the conference table. Ronon and Teyla both averted their eyes, but the rush of emotion still read plainly on their faces.

"Then we're agreed," Mr. Woolsey announced. "I will convene an appeals board. Miss Fraiser, I leave it in your hands to coordinate the writ of appeal and any statements or witnesses you feel are necessary. It's time to put that law degree to work."

It occurred to Cassandra that she had not studied law since graduating in early May, and yet the bar exam approached at a rapid clip. The last Wednesday in July was less than a month away. While all of her fellows did a bar review, she had been working nonstop. A rush of nervous excitement put a determined grin on her lips.

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Woolsey."

o o o

Over the next six days, Cassandra immersed herself in IOA bylaws and collecting written statements and character witnesses from current and former Atlantis personnel. She spent as much time off the base tracking down scientists at Area 51 and buried in law research as she did at her desk. How she managed to juggle all her regular duties and prepare for the appeal, she did not know.

She didn't work alone, however. Carson stopped by after his shifts in the infirmary and the off world humanitarian missions to help collect and organize the written statements. Colonel Caldwell gave a standing order to the bridge crew to beam Cassandra anywhere in the world she needed. Teal'c came to Atlantis several times to speak with Cassandra about going off base alone.

"I am pleased to see you so passionate about this cause, Cassandra," Teal'c stated solemnly. "For many years, you have lived as a Tau'ri, but now I see you taking your true place in this world. As a former slave to the Goa'uld, the fight for justice is your inheritance. I am proud, Cassandra, and I know your mother would be as well."

She turned her face away to hide the mistiness in her eyes.

"I must depart," Teal'c said a moment later. "Colonel Mitchell is insistent SG-1 leave on our next mission tonight. I believe his staff reviews are due tomorrow morning."

Ronon and Teyla came to see Cassandra separately and repeated the line that she did not have to do all of this work on their account. She, in turn, made her case again. It was not about two people, but a precedent the IOA had set long ago. In truth, she loved every moment of the legal research, crafting arguments, and collecting evidence. The melancholy that had plagued her since she arrived in Atlantis disappeared entirely. It put a fire in her blood to piece together a winning debate in her mind.

o o o

At last, the morning of appeal dawned cool and foggy. Cassandra dressed not in her base uniform, but in a sleek dark gray pant suit Sam had bought her as a graduation present and tucked her notes into a matching briefcase, Jack's graduation gift. Mr. Woolsey, Carson, Sheppard, Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla had gathered in the gate room all dressed similarly; even Ronon looked uncomfortable in a white dress shirt. She had never seen Colonel Sheppard in his dress blues before and would have appreciated the sight better under different circumstances. Jennifer and Radek had come to see them off, but Atlantis needed its CMO in the infirmary and a genius scientist to manage the operations.

"Colonel Caldwell, we are ready to beam," Mr. Woolsey said into his earpiece.

At times like these, on the edge of victory or ruin, the heady mix of nerves and giddiness nearly sent Cassandra into fits of giggles. She bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep back the inappropriate laughter and clear her head. The sharp pain did the trick as the white light of the Asgard beam engulfed their small group.

The beam deposited them in a nondescript room somewhere deep within Home World Command. The whitewashed walls and barren oak furniture reminded Cassandra of a doctor's office. A familiar figure in Air Force dress uniform waited in the corner of the bland room. A huge grin flashed across Cassandra's face in an instant.

"Sam!" She flung herself at her godmother, whom she had not spoken with face-to-face in two months. After they had embraced for a long time, Sam greeted her friends from Atlantis.

"Colonel Carter," Mr. Woolsey said, holding out his hand, "I didn't expect you here. I thought the _George Hammond_ was on a mission on the other side of the galaxy."

"It was, but when we received Cassie's sub-space transmission, I contacted the SGC and requested permission to return to Earth. The _Odyssey_ is completing the mission."

"Sub-space transmission?" Cassandra nodded at her boss. "You weren't exaggerating when you said you do a job right. Shall we?"

Mr. Woolsey being familiar with Home World Command's layout led the group through the twisting corridors to the conference room where the representatives met with outside interests. It had been arranged similarly to legislatures around the world. A long table on a platform at the head of the room carried name plaques. Two tables for counsel faced the platform and behind were placed seats for witnesses and observers.

Teyla and Ronon sat in the center of the counsel's table with Mr. Woolsey next to Teyla on the left and Cassandra by Ronon on the right. The others claimed seats behind, all clustered together as if to emphasize their unity. The IOA representatives filed in a few minutes later led by Xioayi Shen and Helen Lackey. The third representative, a middle-aged blond man with a disinterested air, followed last. It was he who called the hearing to order.

"We are here today to hear the rebuttal to the International Oversight Advisory's decision on 10-533 regarding Teyla Emmagen and Ronon Dex. IOA representatives Shen Xioayi, Helen Lackey, and Guillerme Ethier. Counsel for Teyla Emmagen and Ronon Dex, Richard Woolsey." He spoke in an exasperated way colored with a French accent.

Mr. Woolsey took his cue to begin and stood. "I would like to begin by thanking the governing council for agreeing to convene this appeal board. As you know, Teyla Emmagen and Ronon Dex are invaluable members of the Atlantis expedition with the full support and trust of myself, former Atlantis leaders, the United States Air Force, and their colleagues in Atlantis and Stargate Command. We ask today that the council recognizes the implicit trust placed in these two team members and formalize that confidence."

"Mr. Woolsey," Lackey began in her frigid tone, "the reasons for our decision were presented in the memo. Which of our points do you take issue with?"

"None in particular." The answer threw off the council, and the disinterested Mr. Ethier looked plainly curious. "Only, I find them insufficient regarding Ronon and Teyla."

"You are entitled to your opinion," Lackey shot back. Before she could continue in her acerbic way, Mr. Woolsey rode over her words.

"It is an opinion shared by many who know Teyla and Ronon well. In fact, we come today with no less than thirty-seven written testimonies, and as you can see, many high-ranking Atlantis personnel have come in person to support that same high opinion."

Cassandra delivered three packets of written statements to the board and took her seat again. Even before she gained her chair, the three IOA representatives had begun leafing through the sheets, pausing to read the statements from familiar names.

"And yet the fact remains," Lackey persisted, "that no alien member of this program with this level of classified knowledge has ever been given free movement on Earth."

Cassandra had been jotting down counterarguments to pass along to Mr. Woolsey in the event he needed them, but she looked up sharply now. The statement was so erroneous as to be a blatant lie. She wanted to leap to her feet and argue, but Mr. Woolsey stepped in smoothly with a rebuttal.

"On the contrary, Teal'c has such privileges and even lived off base for a time."

"That decision was made by the SGC," Xioayi said, speaking for the first time.

"I see. So in order to ensure equality for all members of this expedition, the United States Air Force would have to be in charge?"

The council shifted uncomfortably. Cassandra took a moment to glance sidelong at Ronon and Teyla. The Athosian wore her most diplomatic mask, as if the debate affected her not at all. Ronon, however, found it difficult not to glare and sneer at the council. Cassandra gently nudged his foot with hers. He didn't feel it or else decided to ignore her because he continued scowling.

"Furthermore, Teal'c was once an enemy of Earth who defected at great personal cost. Teyla and Ronon, however, have never been our enemies. Even before we knew them, we shared a common enemy in the Wraith."

Lackey had recovered from the accusation that the American military was fairer than a civilian oversight organization. "That decision was biased and never repeated again for any other alien living on this planet. Since you can provide no further evidence to the contrary, the council's decision should stand."

Cassandra felt a flush of chills sweep over her body, and her head buzzed with the surge of adrenaline. It was time to present the final argument that would shatter all illusion the SGC had made a decision the IOA would not have.

"Do you have anything else to add?" Xioayi asked mildly.

Mr. Woolsey took his seat, and Cassandra stood on shaky legs. The enormity of what she was about to do – both her words and the act of arguing her first case in front of an international appeals board – sent shivers of nerves through her. She collected her thoughts and took a breath so that when she spoke, her voice did not quiver.

"Cassandra Fraiser."

"Yes, we know who you are."

The tiniest of smirks snaked into the corner of her mouth. Lackey had walked right into the trap. "Then you will also know that I was not born on Earth; that I am an alien." She felt her heart shudder in her chest. Cassandra had not admitted that aloud in years. "I was born on a planet called Hanka – designated P8X-987 by Stargate Command – which was once the domain of the Goa'uld Nirrti. I was brought back to Earth at the age of twelve and adopted by Dr. Janet Fraiser."

She looked down to arrange the evidential documents she had brought with her and saw her hands shaking. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ronon and Teyla staring at her with open surprise, but she also saw Mr. Woolsey's confident nod, and behind him, Sam smiling with tears in her eyes. Her hands did not shake when she flipped through the pages on the table before her.

"The source code of the Atlantis operating system." She held up a DVD labeled in Rodney's handwriting. "Satellite photographs of Goa'uld ships over Antarctica." She held up fuzzy images of gold pyramids floating over Earth. "The frequency of the subcutaneous transmitters inserted into all Stargate program members and standing orders from Colonel Stephen Caldwell to activate the Asgard beam whenever I request it. You say no alien with such high security knowledge has ever been given freedom of movement by the IOA, but here I stand with documents in hand that neither Ronon nor Teyla's access code could retrieve."

"Another decision made by the SGC – "

" – and sanctioned by the IOA when I was hired," Cassandra said over Lackey's weak argument. "As you reminded me not long ago, Ms. Lackey, you have read my SGC file. Yet as the Head of Human Resources you processed my employment papers and decided I – an alien – was no threat and cleared to access information with the highest levels of secrecy. I submit to the council that precedent exists both within the SGC _and_ the IOA."

o o o

On the walk back to the bland waiting room, Sam put an arm around Cassandra's shoulder and squeezed. "I'm so proud of you, Cassie."

She knew Sam meant both her argument and acknowledging her origins. She nodded her understanding, but didn't trust herself to speak. She glanced over her shoulder at Ronon, wondering what he must think of her withholding that information after they came so close to the topic just last week.

"So now that you can go anywhere you want, what are your plans?" Carson asked.

Teyla said she would plan a trip into San Francisco on her day off with Kanaan and Torren to visit one of the playgrounds everyone mentioned all the time. After the council had bowed to Cassandra's point, Mr. Woolsey had pushed for all the Athosians in Atlantis to have the same privilege. They were partly successful. The Athosians could visit San Francisco, but only if Teyla accompanied them. Since the Athosians would not have gone without her anyway, Cassandra called it a win. Ronon had no specific plans, but Sheppard promised to show him around some interesting places.

"You anticipated the course of events very well," Mr. Woolsey said to Cassandra. "Otherwise, how would have known to bring those specific documents?"

"I have one more, but I preferred not to use it if I didn't have to." Sam and Mr. Woolsey both looked so curious she had to elaborate. "One of our estimable representatives published an anonymous white paper that I was able to trace via IP address with some help from a techy friend."

"Care to tell me what's in the paper?"

"No, Mr. Woolsey. I think I'll keep this one close to the chest. Just in case."

He smiled ruefully. "I know you considered other careers, Miss Fraiser, but I do believe you were born for politics. I mean that in the best possible way, of course."

"Thank you. Mr. Woolsey, you can call me Cassandra or even Cassie."

"And you may call me Richard … when we're off duty."

Cassandra bit back a laugh. She hadn't dreamed of calling her formal, rule-loving boss anything but Mr. Woolsey while on official business. Beside her, Sam had a similar expression of gleeful amusement.

o o o

The Asgard beam deposited the Atlantis crew in the gate room. As they broke up to go their separate ways and continue their various duties, Cassandra felt the time had come to explain herself to the people she should have confided in sooner.

"Ronon, Teyla, do you have a minute? Carson, would you join me too?"

Mr. Woolsey, who doubtless had important tasks for her, nodded his approval. Sheppard suggested he and Rodney get lunch. Cassandra made her way through the control room and out onto the balcony overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge with her three friends following. The sun had crested in the noon sky, and the breeze from the bay felt warm against her face.

"I feel like I have some explaining to do."

"That may be so, love, but I've no idea why I'm here," Carson said innocently. "Unless you're a clone in addition to an alien."

She smiled gratefully at the Scottish doctor, who had broken the perceived tension. Ronon leaned against the balcony with his back to the bay, the picture of relaxation, and yet Cassandra felt his intense gaze keenly.

"Let me start from the beginning." Cassandra began with SG-7 arriving on Hanka and setting up an observatory to watch the singularity during the eclipse and the bacterial plague Nirrti had released to kill them and everyone on Hanka. Carson asked a few questions about the bacterial agent that she couldn't answer.

"It killed everyone?" Ronon wanted to know.

Cassandra's eyes darted out to the open water, and she swallowed thickly. Memories of her best friends growing ill while they played and coming home to find her mother dead with black marks across her pretty face surfaced and would not be pushed away.

"Except me," she said softly. She went on with the story to explain how she had survived because of the naquadah in her blood, but how that had been another trick of Nirrti's. The naquadah was an explosive device implanted in her chest, activated by Stargate travel, and intended to destroy Earth.

The atmosphere around the balcony seemed to Cassandra to shift. Her story had taken on intensely familiar qualities. She dared not look at Ronon for fear his easy going body language would show betrayal or anger now that he knew she had let him talk about Sateda without offering the slightest indication she truly empathized.

"The SGC looked for a good family with high enough security clearance to take care of me, but I'd already bonded with my mom – Dr. Fraiser – who took me in at first, and then adopted me about a year later."

Steeling herself now for the apologies she owed to Teyla added, "The device broke down in my system eventually when SG-1 got me far enough away from the Stargate, but I still have the naqaudah in my blood. The Goa'uld, it's in their blood too, so I can sense them when they're close by. Luckily, I only met them twice after that, and one was actually a Tok'ra."

It might have been a happy ending to a sad story, but there was more. She went on to tell how four years later her genetic abnormalities had been triggered. She explained the meaning of _hok'taur_ and how at the time she wanted it to happen, but her mom had saved her by forcing Nirrti to reverse the genetic manipulations.

A long silence followed her story.

"That's quite a story, love. I certainly understand why you wouldn't want to talk about it," Carson said.

"I was … surprised to hear you were an alien, and I am glad you have explained, Cassandra, but I too would not wish to relive those memories," Teyla agreed.

"Yeah, we get it," was Ronon's comment.

Cassandra peered into each of their eyes, hesitant to accept their understanding at face value. She had worried over their reactions for days. "I should have – You're really not –?"

"Who's going to understand better than the three of us that what's past is past?" Ronon asked. "You don't want to talk about your people dying and Goa'uld bombs and genetic experiments. We know the feeling."

"Aye," Carson agreed, "and it helps you're talking to the three most laid back people on Atlantis. Well, as long as there aren't any Wraith around."

Cassandra felt overwhelmed and shaky with emotion. She turned away to hide the moisture in her eyes. She had never known anyone who understood her situation so similarly. The feeling of belonging, coupled with winning the appeals process, had put her in quite a state. Three hands touched her shoulder and arm lightly as her friends left to give her some privacy.

Eight years after her death and despite all Cassandra's changes, her mom had led her to the right decision. The Stargate program was her destiny, and she needed to be with the only people in the world who understood her history because it was theirs too. She belonged in Atlantis.


	8. In the Conservatory

**CHAPTER EIGHT  
IN THE CONSERVATORY**

Ronon leaned against the wall with arms crossed over his chest as Cassandra practiced with Bantos rods against Teyla. The small blonde woman kept getting her legs swept out from under her because she didn't remember to move her feet. No matter how many times Ronon shouted out the advice, she never moved enough. If she did step correctly, it was at the expense of her form.

With both Bantos sticks in one hand, Teyla ducked under Cassandra's blow and hit the back of the other woman's knees. Cassandra crashed onto the padded floor with the sound of breath being knocked out of her lungs. She climbed to her feet unsteadily.

"Good session today, Cassandra," Teyla said, and bowed her head. Cassandra put her forehead against Teyla's in the Athosian manner. "Kanaan and I are taking Torren to the park, I believe you called it, later this afternoon. Will you join us?"

"Of course I will. I have to show him all about swings. They're kind of my thing."

Teyla left the gym to Ronon. Cassandra showed signs of wanting to pack up her things and stop sparring for the day. Ronon, however, had other ideas. He removed from his belt two wooden knives carved in the same shape as the flat knives he kept concealed on his body at all times. He held out one to Cassandra, who regarded it cautiously.

"I suppose I could only get away with not learning for so long."

He grinned. "Smart girl."

She had a lot to learn about hand-to-hand combat. That became apparent in a matter of minutes. For all the skills she had gained in learning patterns and using Bantos rods, she was reluctant to use anything that looked like a real weapon. He had to wonder if she had been so reticent to use the wooden staff weapon Teal'c had trained her with.

"You're small, so your opponent is always going to assume you'll duck under his arm and go for his legs or abdomen," Ronon explained. "So you can never do that. Aim up high, like this."

"No," she said, observing him. "No, I don't trust you to know that move. There's no way you've ever had to 'aim high' like that."

"Don't be difficult. Try it."

Cassandra went through the motions slowly, like Teal'c and Teyla had trained her to do. She drew her left arm back, twisted the knife so it pointed down, and raised her arm over her head to draw a harmless line down the side of his neck. She stopped with the tip pointed at his heart. After she had the hang of the basic idea, he started parrying her blows. The third time he batted her hand away, she growled in frustration.

"Short arm, plus short knife means I'm never going to get past you."

Her cheeks flushed furiously the harder she tried, and her technique turned sloppy and reckless which only made it easier for Ronon to push her hand away. At last, she feinted and slapped his thigh with the wooden knife.

"Finally. I thought you'd never get the point of the exercise."

She stared at him for a moment, and then let out a wordless cry of frustration. Ronon took back the wooden knife and tucked both practice weapons into his belt. Teyla and Teal'c would have toyed with her a little more and peppered the lesson with words of wisdom, but that wasn't his way. Kell had taught his recruits by letting them run into brick walls again and again until they figured it out for themselves. While Ronon didn't like much about Kell, he couldn't take issue with his Task Master's methods.

o o o

Cassandra sat on the edge of the exam table swinging her legs back and forth and taking in the infirmary. She hadn't been in the hospital bay much since coming to Atlantis except to pick up Jennifer for poker night or to talk briefly to one of the doctors about work. The Ancient architecture matched the rest of the city, but Earth equipment had almost totally replaced whatever Lantean implements had been here before.

"Ah, Cassie," Rodney said, hopping onto the exam table opposite hers. "I don't see you in here often."

"No, but … are you in here often enough to notice I'm not here?"

Rodney pretended not to hear the question or maybe Jennifer's sudden appearance from her office had distracted him. Either way, he greeted the doctor in a manner entirely too warm to belong to the same Dr. McKay Sam had told her about.

"Are you ill, Cassie?" Jennifer asked, untwining her arms from Rodney's. "I can stay if – "

"No, I'm fine. I'm here to talk to Carson about the ATA gene therapy. Mr. Woolsey hinted that almost everyone in Atlantis has been inoculated, whether the gene took or not, and I should think about it. I don't know if I should even try though since my DNA is different."

"Is it?" Rodney asked. It bordered on a dumb question, and if it wouldn't set off his ego, Cassandra might have called him on it. "Oh, right. Because you're an alien."

"Very sensitive, Rodney," the doctor chided. "Come on. Let's go get seats for the movie. We'll save you one, Cassie."

"You don't have to," she replied. "Ronon said he'd save me one."

Jennifer and Rodney both paused and turned curious gazes on her, but Jennifer recovered quickly enough and dragged Rodney from the infirmary before he could make another boorish comment. For that, Cassandra was grateful.

Carson came to her bedside a few moments later with an open medical chart in his hands and wearing his most sympathetic face. She knew what that meant before he began talking, but she didn't mind so much. The gene therapy had been Mr. Woolsey's idea and not one she would have ever dreamed up on her own.

"I'm sorry, Cassie, but I don't think we should try the gene therapy. I've had a look at the analysis Dr. Fraiser – your mother – did on your DNA after – around your sixteenth birthday. However your DNA was repaired, it is still not exactly like humans who evolved on Earth. You also have naquadah in your blood, and we have no way of knowing how that will affect the treatment."

"That's what I expected, Carson, but I had to ask. What about the other thing?"

The doctor brought up a full body scan taken under the Ancient scanner on the screen beside the exam table. It showed the physiology of a normal humanoid, but with all the mystery medical images held for everyone not a doctor.

"As you can see, Cassie, you have nothing to worry about. The scan shows the naquadah in your blood is just the same as anyone previously host to a Goa'uld symbiote. Just as your mother predicted twelve years ago, there is no indication of the explosive device or any foreign object anywhere in your body. Can I ask why you asked about this now?"

Cassandra hedged, but decided to answer. "I can feel the Stargate. When it activates or establishes a wormhole or even when it's idle, I can feel it there. I know former hosts and Jaffa can sense each other, but no one has ever talked about being able to feel the Stargate. I didn't know if it was because the device is still in my system waiting to be reassembled."

"I seriously doubt that, Cassie. It would take a level of technology far beyond the Ancients at the height of their civilization to not show up on these scanners."

"Thanks, Carson."

Cassandra hurried from the infirmary to the makeshift movie theater with a lightness in her step. She felt the incoming wormhole in the central tower high above, but for once, it didn't cause her worry or alarm. Maybe the next time she talked to Sam she would ask about sensing the Stargate.

She entered the theater and took the seat next to Ronon just as _Sleepless in Seattle_ – surprisingly, Major Tildy's pick – played the opening credits. He leaned over and down to whisper to her. Apparently, Colonel Sheppard had thoroughly instructed him in movie theater etiquette.

"Your boring job keep you at your desk again?"

Cassandra chuckled and shook her head. "I went to see Carson about the gene therapy, but he said it's not a good idea. I figured it wouldn't be. There's no indication the Ancients were ever on Hanka from what SG-7 and Daniel put in their mission reports."

"But your people came from Earth thousands of years ago, right?"

"Yeah. Daniel thinks they were from somewhere around the Balkans and taken by a Goa'uld posing as a Greek god who later was defeated by Nirrti. Who knows if they ever had any contact with the Ancients on Earth, though."

Someone behind Cassandra hissed at her to be quiet. Socialized to obey demands to be quiet at the movies, she fell silent instantly. Ronon turned around and glared at Rodney, but Cassandra put a hand on his arm to let him know it was okay and she was done talking for now anyway.

o o o

As she did every other morning after her run through the east side of Atlantis, Cassandra made her way to the gym to meet Ronon and Teyla for sparring. She had progressed very little in the two weeks Ronon had begun teaching her to use the wooden knife, but at least she had not fallen behind on any of the new patterns Teyla taught her.

"Ass kicking can now commence," she quipped. "Oh, Colonel Sheppard."

She was surprised to see the Colonel in the gym so early. He normally came later in the day after the senior staff meeting. He was not dressed for sparring, however, but wore jeans and a black t-shirt.

"Off duty," he said, pointing to his clothes. "It's John. And I've just talked Ronon into having a tour of San Francisco, if you can spare him for a day."

"Finally," she said, laughing and glancing over at Ronon. "It's about time you actually leave the city."

"The city of San Francisco is quite lovely," Teyla said, and she seemed to be working very hard to be persuasive. "Cassandra showed us to an excellent playground, and Torren enjoyed the swings greatly. I am sure you will have a good time today, Ronon."

"It's your day off," Ronon said to Cassandra. "We were gonna go to the east pier."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Teyla and John exchange sidelong glances and smiles. She did her best to ignore them. "It's okay. We can do that later. You should see San Francisco. It's my favorite American city, after Chicago and Denver."

"You know, Cassie," John started leadingly, "if you wanted to show Ronon around your third favorite city, that would probably be better than my tour considering how much better you must know your way around."

Cassandra opened her mouth to protest. Colonel Sheppard had gone to Stanford University, and therefore, must know San Francisco much better than she as a tourist ever could. Either he thought she wouldn't know that or thought she would be glad of the excuse to spend her day off with Ronon. She looked to Ronon to decide how to answer, but he was so difficult to read when he wasn't angry that she couldn't guess if would rather spend the day with her or with his best friend. In the end, she decided against calling John on his intentional error.

"I don't want to intrude on any plans – "

"Nothing was set in stone. You two kids have fun."

John slapped Ronon on the back on his way out of the gym, and Teyla made an excuse to depart too. Part of her wanted to laugh at the obvious matchmaking and part wanted to cringe, but the largest part was happy to have a whole day ahead with Ronon.

o o o

After changing into civilian clothes – jeans and her 'badass' t-shirt, which earned an appropriate guffaw from John – Cassandra met Ronon and a group of off duty personnel in the jumper bay. The Satedan had donned his probably only pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Like he had for the appeals hearing, he looked so different, she gaped for a moment.

"What? Not Earth enough?" he asked.

"No, no it's definitely very Earth. I just don't think I can ever get used to seeing you wear our clothes. You don't even have an Atlantis base uniform or standard off world uniform, do you?"

"Nope. Clothes don't change who I am, so why bother with your uncomfortable get ups? I'm only wearing this because Sheppard said I had to if I didn't want the IOA revoking their decision. I could care less, but … you worked hard for it."

Cassandra couldn't keep the smile off her face. It wasn't the sort of sensitive compliment one expected from a man who looked like Ronon which made it all the more touching that he considered her work important, if boring.

"Let's go, folks. We're burning daylight, and I've got a family barbeque to get to," Major Lorne called. He wore civilian clothes too and motioned the small cluster of expedition members into the back of a puddle jumper.

For some time now, a puddle jumper had been commissioned for the sole purpose of ferrying off duty personnel to San Francisco and surrounding towns. The bedlam in the city with ongoing repairs, double the number of teams, and continuing research had grown exponentially worse when coupled with off duty personnel creating their own recreation. As long as one of the off duty personnel piloted the cloaked jumper to the mainland, Mr. Woolsey had no qualms getting them all out of the city to burn off their energy far, far away from Stargate operations.

Cassandra and Ronon joined Lorne, Radek, three botanists, and Colby – Cassandra's helpful Corporal – in the jumper. On the flight, Lorne told everyone to keep their radios on in case of an emergency, to be back at the jumper by eight o'clock, and for God's sake to remember where he landed it. That location turned out to be the roof of a building owned by the NID and used as San Francisco headquarters.

Not really knowing what about San Francisco, or Earth in general, Ronon might find interesting, Cassandra played it safe and headed for the one place she thought had a little of everything: Golden Gate Park. On the cable car ride over the steep inclines and declines, she pointed out places of interest: the Transamerica pyramid, places featured in films, and Alcatraz in the bay.

"So it's a prison colony, like on Olesia?"

Cassandra had never heard of Olesia, but assumed it was a planet in Pegasus he had visited either with Colonel Sheppard or during his years as a Runner. "No, not anymore. It used to be a prison, but now the National Park Service has taken over. There are gardens and wildlife there, and you can take a tour of the cell blocks."

"Can we do that?"

"Yeah, of course. You can't come to San Francisco without seeing Alcatraz."

Really, visiting the former prison was the last thing Cassandra had planned on. She'd hoped to visit the De Young Museum again and eat at Red Java's House and relive the first time she'd come to the city with Tessa over Spring Break her first year in art school. Tessa hadn't appreciated being dragged around an art museum all day, however, and Ronon probably would not either.

At the pier, Cassandra led the way to the Alcatraz ferry service and took care of purchasing two tickets. Ronon got a salary from the IOA, but she didn't know if he'd ever actually spent any of it on Earth. Daniel had said once that Vala went crazy on eBay and , but Cassandra couldn't see Ronon browsing online stores. He had probably never handled American money, at any rate.

The high wind across the bay felt good on the warming June afternoon. Cassandra took out her small digital camera and snapped a few pictures of Alcatraz ahead, and some of Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge. It was odd to think Atlantis floated cloaked somewhere in between.

"Smile, Ronon," she ordered, turning the camera on him.

"Is that a joke?"

She pushed the flash just in time to catch a smile from him and a flash of white teeth behind his goatee. She flipped the camera around to show him the still image. He took the camera, and after a few attempts, paid Cassandra back with a smiling picture of herself.

"Oh, here. Let me," a middle-aged woman said, holding her hand out for the camera. She wore the oddest collection of clothes that marked her as the worst kind of tourist: jeans, a yellow t-shirt and a red sweater tied around her waist, a white tennis visor, and a fanny pack. But she had a pleasant smile on her faintly lined face, and Cassandra handed over the camera. She fell into the standard two person pose naturally, leaning in to Ronon and giving a big grin. He seemed a little less sure because the stranger waited to take the picture for a few moments. When she handed the camera back, Cassandra flipped it over immediately. It was a good picture with just enough light piercing the overcast sky and not so much breeze they looked windswept.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, sweetheart." The woman took a seat beside her presumed husband and daughter, but addressed Cassandra and Ronon still. "Where are you two kids from?"

Ronon glanced at Cassandra, as if to say 'you field this one.' She did it easily, having been prepared for the question the minute she encountered another tourist. It was the requisite topic of conversation, after all.

"Originally Colorado Springs, but Chicago now."

The ferry arrived at Alcatraz Island before the friendly woman could ask any more of the standard questions for these encounters.

"People on your planet are friendly." A passing child, maybe seven or eight, did a double take. He seemed to decide Ronon was an extraterrestrial because he ran forward, grabbed his sister's arm, and began whispering furiously in her ear. Cassandra watched this with amusement. "Unless they work for the IOA."

The line to enter the cell block had swelled with the new ferry arrivals, so Cassandra suggested seeing the gardens first. They strolled around the flower beds paying more attention to the ships sailing around the bay than the plants. Cassandra paused suddenly, eyes fixed on spots of flaming magenta and burning orange against the steely gray sky.

"Cassandra?"

"Look, kites." Ronon followed her line of sight to the colorful specks. "I've loved flying kites since I was a little girl. I actually have a recurring dream about it. I'm in this meadow of tall reeds, and I'm flying a pink-and-teal hummingbird kite with … someone. Maybe my mom or Sam, I'm not sure. I even sign my artwork with a kite."

"Since you were little on your home world? Or since you came to Earth?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. It must have been Earth because kites are an Earth invention. So why would we have had them on Hanka?"

"We had them on Sateda." Cassandra's head swiveled to peer up at him. "Only we made ours round and attached blue streamers so when they caught the wind and spun, they looked like the active Stargate."

Cassandra shivered in the high wind. She had never considered kites a universal toy – literally, universal apparently. The meadow had always been somewhere in Colorado and the woman in her dream had always been her mom or Sam.

"I think the line is going down for the tour now," she said.

o o o

Everyone made it back to the roof of the NID building before eight o'clock, and Major Lorne piloted the jumper across the water and into the jumper bay on Atlantis. The foreign botanists conversed rapidly in French the whole way, but Cassandra, who knew French, let them share their thoughts on Americans and the city without interruption.

Back on Atlantis, Cassandra and Ronon walked together from the jumper bay toward the residential quarters. They skipped the crowded transporter in favor of passing along the outer corridors and observing the city of Atlantis lit up with the sprawl of San Franciscan lights beyond. Not halfway to quarters yet, Ronon made a detour to a balcony overlooking the north pier. From that vantage point, Alcatraz was just visible as an outline against the water.

"What did you think of San Francisco?"

He leaned against the railing with forearms braced against the cool metal, and she stood with her back to the mainland. The sounds of the city carried across the bay like a muffled movie soundtrack, and the high wind whistled through the spires of Atlantis.

"I've been to so many worlds it's hard to impress me, but I think maybe the cable cars did." Cassandra laughed. "Are all your cities like that?"

"I think only San Francisco has cable cars. Chicago, though, is a fantastic city. We have a Metra, which come to think of it, probably wouldn't impress you. Actually, what I love about Chicago is the architecture along the Chicago River. It's like a crazy mix of the past and present all blended together. There are these parks around the city too. Sometimes I'll be walking through Washington Park or Grant Park and completely forget I'm in a huge city."

"I'd like something like that. I couldn't get used to living in a big city again, but maybe something like your Chicago parks would be nice."

Cassandra wanted to ask about his home on Sateda, but she didn't. The last thing she ever wanted to talk about was her village on Hanka. He had lived in a big city, and so Satedan civilization was more advanced than Hankan society, and that was probably all she would ever know.

"My favorite place in the whole world is Buckingham Fountain in Grant Park on a Sunday morning. You can sit there on the benches and listen to this incredible fountain, and see beyond it Lake Michigan, with no one to disturb you. And then you turn around, and there's the whole city rising above the treetops. It's really incredible. I'll show it to you, if we ever have a chance."

She became aware that Ronon was staring at her and not the city anymore. She met his level gaze and read his intention there. It was a thought that had occurred to her as well, and she leaned in to give her silent permission.

"Cassandra!" Mr. Woolsey's voice called out. He appeared around the corner and stepped onto the balcony. "Just the person I wanted to see."

"Why does this always happen?" she heard Ronon mutter.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Woolsey?"

"Oh, hello, Ronon. I heard you went to San Francisco today. I hope you enjoyed yourself." The expedition leader looked between Ronon and Cassandra, and recognition dawned. "You went together. I see. Please pardon the intrusion." He backed away self-consciously.

"It's fine, Mr. Woolsey. Did you need me to do something?"

"Oh, no. No. We'll discuss it tomorrow morning before the senior staff meeting. Have a good night, both of you."

A moment of awkward silence rested between Ronon and Cassandra after Mr. Woolsey hurried away from the balcony.

"Well," she began, "since I have a full day tomorrow, I guess I should probably …"

"No. Wait." Ronon had taken hold of her wrist as she turned to leave, and held her arm in a surprisingly gentle grip. "I've been through this before. There's a distraction, and then …." But whatever came next, he didn't elaborate. "I'm going to kiss you now."

When he tilted her face up with one strong hand and leaned down to press his lips against hers, she had no thought in her head except the thrilling jolt of his touch. It might have been the matter-of-factly stated intention or his natural intensity, but afterward Cassandra could only conclude that Earth men just didn't do it as well as Satedans.

o o o

Cassandra dreamed of kites.

The reedy grass tickled her calves and knees where the light purple sundress ended. The intense summer sun overhead brought beads of sweat onto her forehead, but still she ran as fast as her short legs could carry her. The hummingbird kite trailed behind her, bumping and tangling in the grass. A woman's laughing voice rang out, calling for her to stop.

The hummingbird had a battered wing where a reed had poked through the heavy paper. The younger Cassandra stared down at her battered toy with tear-filled eyes. A steady pair of hands smoothed her hair and warm lips pressed a kiss to her forehead. She said something, but the dream wind stole the words.

In that moment, Cassandra woke from her dream to find her quarters in Atlantis bathed in soft light from the spires outside her window. She had the impression she had called out in her sleep. She seemed to recall a hazy half-memory between sleep and wakefulness when she had said, "Can you fix it, mom?"

Cassandra rolled over and stuffed her fists into the pillow to fluff it up. The yellow city lights fell across the pictures on her desk illuminating one of her mother at the front. The voice in the dream had not been Janet Fraiser's. She felt tears stinging the back of her eyes as she drifted back into a deep sleep, but she didn't know why a dream should make her cry.


	9. Woman with a Parasol

**CHAPTER NINE  
WOMAN WITH A PARASOL**

The mess hall echoed with the sounds of many conversations. Hardly a single table remained empty on most days around the lunch hour, but on rainy days when the outside tables couldn't be used it was even more crowded. Ronon and Cassandra sat alone at a table in the center of the mess hall, two trays of finished lunch forgotten off to the side.

" … and then he tripped over his own feet and fell through the gate," Ronon concluded with a deep chortle.

Cassandra threw her head back and laughed gleefully. "Has he ever tried drinks off world since?"

"Never. Not even water."

She broke into another fit of laughing. If anyone had told Cassandra even a week ago that she would be eating lunch with Ronon, sharing funny stories and hearing him laugh, she would have noted possible mental instability in their file and sent them on to the psychiatrist for evaluation. Yet here she was, enjoying just that lunch for the third day in a row.

"Your turn," Ronon said.

She thought for a minute. "All my funny stories involve Jack – General O'Neill." Ronon grinned and nodded to indicate he already knew Jack was a funny man. "He has a cabin up in Minnesota with this lake in the back – "

"_Colonel Sheppard, report to Stargate operations. Colonel Sheppard, to Stargate operations_," Mr. Woolsey's voice called out urgently through the city communications system.

Funny stories about Jack forgotten, Cassandra and Ronon leapt up from their chairs and ran for the nearest transporter. Any emergency that called John to the control room would likely require his team, and Cassandra needed to be there for Mr. Woolsey.

Emerging from the end transporter moments later, Ronon led the way in a sprint to the Ancient terminals overlooking the gate room. John and Mr. Woolsey stood in front of a mounted screen just ending a transmission from General Landry.

"Gear up," John said, spotting Ronon. "We have a mission."

Cassandra followed her boss while Ronon and John left to get their weapons and gear. He briefed her quickly on the situation. SG-13 had reported Lucian Alliance activity on the planet designated PX3-L72 and went to investigate further. Only minutes ago, the Lucian Alliance had transmitted back video of the entire team's execution. Landry had requested teams in puddle jumpers gate to the planet immediately to 'eliminate the threat' which was a polite way of saying 'use drones to blow the Lucian Alliance bastards to hell.'

She felt her stomach heave and roll, but swallowed thickly and tried to focus on her responsibilities, not her feelings. Without waiting for Mr. Woolsey's approval, she announced, "I'll contact the IOA and NID."

Not long ago, the IOA had created a Field Operations Division to deal with alien threats on Earth. She knew for certain the Lucian Alliance had cells and sleeper agents on Earth. If they were going to attack, while the entire Stargate program looked to P3X-L72 would be the perfect time. She had no sooner sat down at her desk and commanded her computer to dial Malcolm Barrett then the first puddle jumper lowered itself into the gate room. Seconds after it disappeared into the event horizon, a second ship disembarked. Sheppard and Lorne's teams had gone. Worry had no time to turn to dread, however, because Malcolm Barrett answered his phone.

o o o

"Detecting no life signs," Rodney said, a deep frown drawing down the corners of his mouth. He looked over at John. "I'm sorry, John. They're already gone."

The colonel said nothing for a long time, but then his anger broke through with a loud, "Damn it!" Four good men had died today, and the ones responsible had turned tail and ran immediately. Ronon understood too well, and so he said nothing to try and comfort his friend.

"_Your orders, sir?_" Lorne's voice asked through the radio.

"Let's sweep the planet. Take the western hemisphere, we'll take the east."

Rodney looked close to protesting, but shut his mouth at the same time Ronon kicked the back of his seat. The scientist cast a disparaging glance over his shoulder, but wisely said nothing. The atmosphere in the puddle jumper was tense as they ran sweeps over the continents. An hour later, Lorne reported finding nothing.

"Head back to Atlantis," Sheppard ordered. "We're going to see if we can bring back our dead."

They flew through the wispy clouds to a rocky, baked earth continent around the planet's equator with a few scattered villages around the Stargate. Rodney determined only one structure showed energy readings and, therefore, was likely the Lucian Alliance base. Sheppard maneuvered the puddle jumper into a smooth landing a hundred meters from the building.

The team entered cautiously, Sheppard in the lead and Rodney next with the life signs detector. Ronon followed Teyla and often turned back to check that no one trailed them. However much faith Rodney put into the life signs detector, Ronon trusted his own senses. The building was devoid of habitants, however, and most of the equipment had been demolished before the cowards murdered four men and went to ground.

"Fan out, look for SG-13, but stay in visual range. Be careful. We have no idea what kinds of traps they might have set for us."

Ronon flanked his team on the left, moving with his weapon raised at chest level. Under the circumstances, he had no qualms setting his particle magnum to kill. Niche after niche he found empty, and he continued to scan the large open space floor to ceiling. It looked like a kind of warehouse emptied of shelves, nothing more than a giant metal box. On his right, Rodney ambled along paying more attention to the Ancient gadget in his hand than his surroundings. Ronon saw the trap seconds before Rodney bumbled into it.

Lunging for his teammate, he tackled Rodney backwards with the full force of his strength. The scientist let out a high-pitched squeal before groaning as Ronon's weight landed on top of him. Stunned – his head had hit the concrete floor – Rodney mumbled incoherently for a few seconds.

"What – the – _hell_ is wrong with you? Get off!"

Ronon used his hands to push himself to his feet, and then pulled Rodney off the ground. Pointing at ankle height with a steady finger, he said to his team mate in his most condescending tone, "Trip wire." Rodney visible paled.

"I believe this is the explosive device," Teyla announced. She had traced the rudimentary trip wire to a perfectly circular gray metal ball lodged in the wall.

"That would have been one hell of an explosion," Sheppard said. "It's a Goa'uld grenade. An naquadah grenade."

"Even a device that small would have destroyed a quarter of the planet. Maybe half," Rodney mumbled. He turned fully to Ronon. "Thank you."

The Satedan only nodded. They saved each other's lives too often to make a to-do over it every time. "That's an amateur move. Are these Lucian Alliance really that green they can't do better than a trip wire?"

"No," Sheppard answered. "I'd say this one was set to throw us off something even nastier they have hidden around here. But I'm not leaving while there's a chance SG-13 are here somewhere. If we can take their bodies back, we're damn well going to do it."

Ronon needed no other orders, but before he resumed his search, he put a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "You're with me." His team mate heartily agreed and stayed behind Ronon for the rest of the search, peering at his surroundings as much as the life signs detector.

"So, uh, Ronon," Rodney began. "I couldn't help but notice you've been spending some time with Cassie." Ronon paused and glanced over his shoulder with an arched eyebrow. "Well, let's be honest, a lot of people have noticed. You can't really keep a low profile in Atlantis. Especially not when you look like … you. Anyway, I thought I could give you some helpful advice, friend to friend."

"You want to give me dating advice?" The question hung in the air unanswered. For once, Rodney showed some tact and didn't mention Jennifer. "What is it?"

"Women from Earth – and I think Cassie qualifies even though she's technically an alien – they like romance. Ask her to dinner."

"We eat together all the time."

"Yes, I know. I meant dinner with candles and flowers and whatnot."

Ronon considered his friend for a long moment, and then turned around without comment to continue the search.

Twenty minutes later, Teyla called, "Colonel Sheppard, I have found something." The sorrow in her tone said everything. When Ronon and Rodney arrived, they saw four sets of dog tags hanging from a peg in the wall. There was no other sign of SG-13 except for the blood stains on the floor.

Sheppard's face went hard. He collected the dog tags from the peg and led the retreat out of the building. They flew back to the Stargate in absolute silence save for the DHD as Rodney dialed Atlantis.

Night had fallen by the time the puddle jumper exited the Stargate into Atlantis' gate room. Through the front pane of glass, Ronon saw most of the daytime activity had ceased and only the usual gate technicians sat at their consoles. The automatic systems lifted the puddle jumper into the jumper bay over the gate room and docked.

Cassandra hurried up the stairs into the bay to meet the team as they exited through the rear hatch. She looked expectantly at Sheppard. "Did you find them? Bring them home?"

"No." It sounded like it took every bit of Sheppard's strength to get out the single word. Cassandra's face fell, and with the look of pain clouding her features and robbing her of her natural confidence, she looked much younger than her years, like the lost child she must have been when the Goa'uld killed everyone on her planet.

Cassandra watched the team file past her and head to the changing rooms for a shower and fresh clothes. As he left the jumper bay, Ronon leaned down and said quietly near her ear, "Meet me on the east pier in fifteen minutes."

She did as Ronon asked and made her way to the east pier where she normally did her sketches. The light rain earlier in the day had let up at last, and the stars shone overhead in a clear black sky. Instead of lying on the ground, she sat with her back to the city and legs dangling off the end of the pier.

When Ronon joined her, he wore his usual brown Satedan style clothing instead of his black off world uniform. He sat next to her on the pier, but seemed to sense she needed to talk and said nothing to start the conversation.

"It's really hard for me when service men and women die. Even when I hear it on the news. I have a flashback to the last time I saw my mom leaving for work, and then General Hammond coming to our front door with the base chaplain. It was so difficult to bury her, but I can't even imagine the torture of having no body to lay to rest."

Ronon remained silent for several moments, but then said, "Don't let yourself relive it. When it happens, remember your mom's finest moment, not her last moment."

Wetness clouded her vision. "That's the problem, Ronon. Her last moment was her finest."

His strong arm wrapped around her shoulder. She leaned in to him with her eyes closed and listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He didn't try to console her with words, and she appreciated that. Words wouldn't have helped, not this time, the first time losing a service member since returning to the Stargate program.

o o o

The following morning, Cassandra tottered into the infirmary carrying a heavy white box in her arms and composing an angry e-mail to the people in charge of deliveries in her mind. Someone either did not know the universal symbol for medicine or thought it would be hilarious to leave the heaviest box of supplies known to man at her desk.

"Someone is getting bitch slapped for this," she announced, dropping the box just inside the infirmary door.

Heads swiveled in her direction, including John who was getting his arm stitched up and Jennifer who was doing the stitching. Carson stood at the next bed cleaning a thin cut on Ronon's forehead. Her friends stared for a moment, and then Ronon hopped off the bed and easily carried the box into the supply room.

"I don't think I've ever seen you angry, Cassie," John remarked.

"Well, that's because I've never had to lug a box full of lead-coated bricks down seven flights of stairs because somebody who shall rename nameless – Dr. Alexander Bryant – broke the transporters while 'fixing' them."

Carson turned away under the pretense of cleaning up his suture equipment, but Cassandra had seen the smile creeping onto his face. She scowled at him, but found it impossible to stay irritated at him for longer than a few seconds.

"Looks like syringes, vials, that sort of thing," Ronon said, coming out of the supply closet.

"Were they made of bricks?" Carson asked, and utterly failed to keep the laughter out of his voice. Seeing the look on her face, he quickly apologized. "Oh, I'm sorry, Cassie. But John is right. It is surprising to see you angry is all."

John and Ronon left after Jennifer finished her patient's stitches. Cassandra couldn't help but give Ronon a parting smile that somehow indicated to her doctor friends it would be fine to discuss private matters in the middle of a work day.

"I think it's lovely, you two together," Carson said. "I think you make a very good match. Surprising on the surface, maybe, but you've got a lot in common, of course."

Cassandra gaped for what felt like a full minute. The only friend she'd ever considered close enough to discuss personal matters with was Tessa, and even then Tessa kept her comments limited because she knew Cassandra didn't appreciate constant commentary. More surprising, however, was that she didn't mind so much Carson broaching the subject.

"Things get around Atlantis pretty quickly," he explained. "And it's not like you two have been subtle, canoodling in the mess hall as you do."

"Canoodling?" Cassandra felt irrationally irritated by the word.

"Aye. Canoodling."

Carson excused himself to see to a patient favoring one leg who had been brought in supported by two colleagues. Cassandra turned to Jennifer, expecting some kind of amusement or teasing quality in her friend's expression. Instead, she saw the Jennifer looked hesitant and unsure.

"Is something wrong, Jennifer?"

"Well, no. At least, I don't think so, but …. We're friends, so I probably should have said something before, but I wasn't sure there was any reason to. It's just that Ronon and I sort of had something for just a little while. It was nothing, really, and I'm happy with Rodney."

Cassandra hesitated for a long moment before saying anything. This was definitely new territory for her. Friends' former 'somethings' (which they always contradictorily claimed were also 'nothings') were totally off limits, no matter how casual. But she honestly hadn't known, and it was too late now to backtrack. She had grown to really like Ronon, and she thought the feeling was mutual.

"If you don't think it's a problem, then I don't see why we should make it one."

There would be no talking to Jennifer about Ronon, naturally, but Cassandra thought she could live with this arrangement. The little jealous voice in her head wanted to know what constituted 'nothing' but she knew better than to ask.

"Good. Because there was really nothing – at all."

Cassandra understood that well enough, and she appreciated Jennifer trying to give her answers to the questions she didn't want to ask. It occurred to her quite suddenly that Ronon and Rodney had both liked the same woman, and Jennifer had chosen Rodney. Her initial reaction was something along the lines of _'Seriously!' _but then that Ronon and Rodney were still close friends on the same team. If Rodney McKay was mature enough ….

"Yeah, good. I'll come pick you up at eight for poker night. Try not to get tied up in surgery again."

"Three times and everyone throws a fit," Jennifer said, laughing.

o o o

Ronon lunged forward, grabbed Cassandra's forearm, and twisted her around with the wooden practice knife pressed to the back of her neck. She gazed up at him for a moment, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and then she let out a cry of frustration.

"Goddamn it!"

She paced the length of the gym to retrieve her practice weapon that he had sent flying across the room moments ago. When she turned back to him, she halted at seeing his amused grin, and then scowled even more deeply at him.

"What?" she snapped.

"Nothing. It's just that when you get mad, you sort of bare your teeth." He imitated her lip curl. "It's cute."

"It's cute?" she mimicked, but without any trace of amusement. "At this rate, if I run into a Goa'uld, you know how I'm going to have to kill it? I'll have to escape, run to the Stargate, dial the Tok'ra home world, and beg them to come save me!"

"No, you won't," Ronon started to say, but John entered the gym then, Teyla and Jennifer trailing him with Bantos rods in hand.

John grinned mischievously at Cassandra. "That's some strategy you've got there. A few potentially problematic areas. I'd still work on my knife fighting if I were you."

"You _are_ doing better," Ronon assured her.

"I'm just not used to not winning."

"That's the problem with having a city full of experts and geniuses and best-and-brightests," John commented. "Someone is second place, and then we all throw tantrums and beat our fists on the floor. Not that's what you were doing," he added quickly.

"Actually, it kind of was." Cassandra shot Ronon a look of mock outrage and slapped his arm with the practice knife as she passed to take a seat on the window benches.

"You have _my_ sympathy, if no one else's," Jennifer said. She handed over a bottle of water. "This fighting stuff is too hard for a doctor to get the hang of, but not learning is too dangerous. I know from firsthand experience."

"Perhaps if the two of you sparred against one another," Teyla suggested. "Your skills are better matched than if you fought against myself or Ronon or even John."

"_Even_ John?" the colonel demanded, but was ignored.

Cassandra and Jennifer agreed to a round of Bantos fighting against each other, so Ronon took a seat and grabbed the water bottle from John's bag. The doctor and lawyer had just taken up the first fighting stance – "There's a joke in here somewhere," John muttered – when Woolsey appeared in the doorway.

"Please excuse me," he began. "Cassandra, I've been calling you, but you're not on your radio."

Ronon waved a hand in the air to get Woolsey's attention. "My fault, not hers. I broke her radio."

"How did you …?" Woolsey's eyes slid between Cassandra and Ronon, exactly as they had when he found them on the balcony about to kiss. "Oh, well, I don't think that's any of my … Never mind. When you have a moment, Cassandra."

Ronon saw Cassandra, Jennifer, and John's thoughts go to a place they collectively called 'the gutter' at the same time. Cassandra barely held in her laughter.

"My earpiece fell out while we were sparring, and Ronon stepped on it," she clarified. "I'll be right there, Mr. Woolsey."

After her boss left, Cassandra allowed herself a gleeful laugh. "Well I'm not going to be able to think about anything else today," she quipped. Then her cheeks colored as she realized what she'd just implied. "I mean radios."

"Radios," John said. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Colonel!" Teyla chided, but Cassandra said smoothly, "Yes, but then I guess an old man like you wouldn't know that."

As she handed over the practice knife, Ronon held Cassandra for a long moment with an intense gaze. She returned a smoldering look that would have him thinking about radios all day too, and then turned on her heel and walked swiftly out of the gym. Three heads swiveled from Cassandra's retreating back to Ronon.

"Cheeky," John said, "but I'm not old."

o o o

Ronon came to see Cassandra before lunch to ask if she had time to eat, but she begged off with apologies. Mr. Woolsey had come to find her because the IOA was nearing a decision on what to do about Todd, and he wanted her opinion of the recommendations as an outsider. She was only just getting to her response, which would take a few hours to write.

"I'll find time for dinner. I promise."

"All right, but I'm coming to get you. You'll lose track of time – _again_ – if I don't."

"Fair enough."

Cassandra went back to work and buried herself in the task at hand for another seven hours. She paused only to form a human wall in front of Mr. Woolsey's office door when Rodney came rampaging into the control room spitting off a tirade against Dr. Bryant, the man who single-handedly broken the transporters that Rodney had had to fix. She managed to calm him down slightly with some ego-stroking and sent him on his way to berate Dr. Bryant in person.

Before she knew it, Ronon was standing in front of her desk prying her hands off the computer keyboard. She put up a mock fight, but gave in to his strong guidance and let herself be led away from the stacks of work still waiting in her e-mail and desk inboxes. She planned on coming back after dinner to finish up even though she'd made all her deadlines for the next two days.

"Where are we going?" she asked, when Ronon tapped a square on the transporter screen far from the mess hall. "I thought we were having dinner."

"We are."

The doors slid back to reveal the living quarters. Cassandra hesitated for a beat, and then followed Ronon down the hallway to his room. She had never seen what his living space looked like, but she hadn't imagined so many candles and flowers.

"Wow. Ronon."

"I thought you might want dinner with candles and flowers and … whatnot."

She spun to look up at him. "Did you just say 'whatnot'?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and said, "No," in a tone that positively screamed 'yes.' Rodney always used that word, but she let it drop and hitched a smile into place. No use telling him she wasn't the sort of girl who valued romance after he'd gone to the effort. The cheeseburgers, fries, and beers on the table did a lot to appease her discomfort.

Aside from the misplaced candles and flowers, she liked the way Ronon kept his quarters. There were fewer personal items than in her own, but she spotted a photograph of his team on the bookshelf holding only a handful of books but a cache of weapons. On the wall hung a painting in a style unlike any she had seen before. Three figures stood on a hill against a red sunset.

"Satedan art?" He nodded. Cassandra peered at the painting as she would in any art gallery, noting the colors, the light and shade, the brush strokes. It was more colorful than the tonalist paintings she adored, but the line was exquisite, and she told Ronon so. It only occurred to her later that getting this painting must have been extremely difficult with only 300 survivors scattered over half a dozen worlds.

Dinner wasn't a different affair simply because of the candles and flowers. They talked about the same things they always did: gossip disguised as anecdotes about colleagues, their work, and their pasts although never mentioning the people they had lost. After dinner, they retreated to the window to talk more as they took in the beauty of Atlantis lit up against the black backdrop of the open ocean. A gradual lull in the conversation naturally begged the question:

"What are you thinking about?"

Cassandra breathed deeply and considered her answer before turning away from Atlantis to meet Ronon's eyes. She let a shy smile work its way into the corner of her mouth. "Radios."

Strong arms slid around her as Ronon leaned in close, and she felt the thrill of hot and cold shivers all over as he said, "Me too."


	10. Unique Forms of Continuity in Space

**CHAPTER TEN  
UNIQUE FORMS OF CONTINUITY IN SPACE**

The sound of static brought Ronon out of a peaceful sleep. For a moment, he stared at the ceiling unsure why he had woken up. His eyes roved and came to rest on the large reprint of the Satedan heroes hanging on the wall. A slow smile spread over his lips as recollections from the night returned, and he looked over to see Cassandra still sleeping. The twisted and tangled sheets offered him a generous view of a body too pale from not enough time in the sun, but exquisite to him all the same.

The static that pulled Ronon into the waking world continued, and he recognized it as a voice through an earpiece. This time, it disturbed Cassandra's rest. He watched her eyelids flutter, then open, and the same mildly confused state come into her eyes. The emotions he had just experienced played over her face. She turned her head to see him and offered a demur smile, but Ronon would never buy that guise again.

The voice in the discarded earpiece protested being ignored. "We should get that," she said. Her voice was deep and husky from a beautiful sleep. He responded with a kiss, but the voice crackled into the air with repeated insistence.

Rolling out of bed, they searched through discarded clothing and pulled on perfunctory items in case the summons required their immediate attention as these calls so often did. Ronon found the earpiece tangled in Cassandra's base jacket and held it out to her. She fitted it to her ear and listened for a beat before responding.

"Mr. Woolsey had an early meeting with General Landry at Stargate Command." She paused, listening to the voice again. "I believe Mr. Woolsey's orders were clear on that account." Another pause. "Yes, I realize that." Another pause, and her brow furrowed. "Yes, _sir_."

Ronon paused in the search for his own earpiece. From the way she said 'sir' he guessed she had been talking to John, who had reminded her with Woolsey gone he was in command of Atlantis.

"_Colonel Sheppard_ ordered me to report to the control room before SG teams start leaving today. Apparently, the Russians are causing a few problems without Mr. Woolsey here to keep them in line."

Cassandra reached out to touch the necklaces hanging against Ronon's battle-scarred bare chest with a smile in the corner of her mouth. She twined her fingers in the bands and gently tugged his face to hers like she had done last night. The memory of them dangling above her, brushing against her cheeks and pooling in the hollow of her collar bone elicited a happy sigh from her.

"When John calls …"

"He said before the SG teams disembark, and they don't do that for … half an hour. I'm going to take a shower."

Clearly, she meant it as an invitation, and Ronon accepted without hesitation.

o o o

Cassandra sorted out the Russians' problems, and Ronon smoothed John's ruffled feathers with a muttered, "Let it go, Sheppard" and knowing looking. Mr. Woolsey returned at mid-morning and the day fell into a usual routine of chaos as SG teams came and went, IOA bureaucrats jockeying for moaning rights, and half a dozen potential catastrophes in the city were solved, apparently single-handedly by Rodney.

One day turned into seven and nothing extraordinary happened – except working in an Ancient city built by the first evolution of the human form – until SG-1 returned to Earth from the planet designated P1J-D2X and Daniel gleefully announced:

"We found you a ZPM!"

From there, Cassandra's work trebled as a flurry of e-mails descended onto her inbox and threatened to swallow her storage limit whole. After three days of considering accidentally dropping her computer off the highest balcony she could find, the plans were made and agreed upon by the SGC, IOA, and Mr. Woolsey.

The mission would belong to Atlantis, specifically Colonel Sheppard's team, but Daniel would come along as a cultural liaison. The people of P1J-D2X – Sarnasians – showed signs of vitamin deficiencies, so Jennifer would come along as a good will ambassador among the people. Mr. Woolsey would handle diplomatic negations, and General Landry would take command of Atlantis while he was away.

"Is there anything else you need, Mr. Woolsey?" Cassandra asked, the night before the team was scheduled to depart.

"No, that will be all, Cassandra. I'll see you in the gate room at 0900 tomorrow. Dr. Jackson said this planet has an aggressive insect population, which I'm sure Colonel Sheppard was thrilled to hear. Anyway, be sure to pack a lot of bug spray."

She did a double take. "Excuse me, Mr. Woolsey?"

"Bug spray."

"Yes, I heard that, but why would I need bug spray?"

"Because you're coming with us, of course." Seeing her wary look, he went on. "Cassandra, you have shown exemplary talent for this profession in the time you've been here, and I truly believe you have a bright future with the IOA. It would be a crime for me not to give you every learning opportunity I can, and that includes off world travel and trade negations with aliens."

o o o

Cassandra reported to the gate room at nine o'clock the following morning with her nerves doing a number on her head and stomach. She wore a standard black off world uniform with a flak jacket, a Beretta at her hip (after John confirmed she knew how to shoot), and a zat gun, which she would much rather use than the firearm.

"You look nervous," Daniel observed. He bent his neck to peer down into her face as he had always done when she was younger.

"It's just that I've only been through the Stargate once, and that didn't turn out so well. Plus, I had you and Sam holding my hands the whole time."

The archaeologist smiled and gave her shoulders a hug. "Your mom always said we should send you through the Stargate again or you'd develop a phobia. You'll be fine, Cassie. There's nothing on the other side of the gate you can't handle."

Mr. Woolsey called Daniel forward and asked him to go through the Stargate first in case any Sarnasians came to greet them. It was unlikely, but possible, and it had taken Daniel a long time to earn the friendship of the war-like clan settled around the Stargate. As the gate dialed and the wormhole established behind the shield, Cassandra watched the process more intently than she ever had before. She trembled with nervous adrenaline and subconsciously touched the spot on her chest where the Goa'uld bomb had formed.

By ones and twos, the team walked through the event horizon, but Cassandra remained rooted to the spot. She became aware of Ronon standing next to her and heard General Landry's voice ask, "Is there a problem, Cassandra?" with the same tone he might have used to order his men to get moving. She had heard that tone from Jack and Sam and her mother too, and it spurred her into action. Her legs moved automatically towards the active Stargate.

"It'll be fine," Ronon said. "You talked to Carson, remember? When has he ever been wrong?"

Just before they passed through the event horizon, Cassandra felt Ronon's fingers brush against hers. He wasn't holding her hand exactly, but even the lightest touch anchored her as she passed into the wormhole and stepped out onto an alien world. Ronon's fingers left hers as soon as they were through, and she understood it wasn't because it embarrassed him, but because Daniel waited expectantly to congratulate her on conquering her fear.

A massive maroon gas giant rose over the planet in the northern sky, and the oppressive barometric pressure caused instant pounding behind Cassandra's eyes. She felt dizzy and groped for something solid to hold onto. For a moment, panic seized her and told her the Goa'uld device had reformed in her body. But then she saw Jennifer sitting at the bottom of the steps leading down from the Stargate looking queasy, and Mr. Woolsey disappearing around the stone base to be sick in semi-privacy. Even Teyla looked a little green. Only John, Ronon, and Daniel appeared perfectly fine.

"Yeah, this planet can have that effect," Daniel said apologetically. "Vala never stopped getting sick, and we eventually had to send her back early. Cam was fine after an hour or so. I did put this in my mission report if anyone bothered to read it."

"Oh, yes," snapped Rodney, "because in all my spare time I delight in reading your mission reports. I keep them on my bedside table next to _The Grand Design_. Would a warning at the gate or anytime during the two weeks we've planned this mission have killed you?"

After twenty minutes of constant whining and bickering, John announced it was time to move. "Anyone who feels too ill to walk three miles to the village can stay at the gate."

By that time, Cassandra felt a little steadier. She took several long drinks of water and climbed to her feet. Teyla had also recovered, and Rodney looked perfectly fine, though he continued complaining loudly. Jennifer accepted help getting up from the ground and swayed a little.

"I'll be fine, but can someone take my …" She trailed off and swallowed thickly. Ronon took the handle of the medical kit, which looked like it weighed twice as much as the box Cassandra had delivered to the infirmary.

Mr. Woolsey, however, looked in no fit state to walk to a corner drugstore much less three miles over rough terrain to a primitive village on an alien planet. His skin had gone deathly pale and clammy. It sounded like he and Vala suffered the same aversion to this atmosphere.

"You know, Richard, I could handle negotiations," Daniel offered.

"I'll be fine in awhile, I'm sure. Let's go."

The team moved out in the sluggish line held up by Jennifer's queasiness and Mr. Woolsey's need to stop every quarter hour to retch. He looked greener the longer he stayed on the planet, and Jennifer expressed concern that he would get dehydrated if he didn't start feeling well soon.

"It must have something to do with the planet's inner core," Rodney announced, pushing buttons on the life signs detector. "Since it only affects some of us, I'd say it's the electromagnetic field interfering with our brain chemistry."

"I'd really rather talk about something else," Mr. Woolsey said.

"Why don't you tell us about these people, Dr. Jackson?" Teyla asked immediately.

"Their society is pretty common in this galaxy. They were enslaved by the Goa'uld until the System Lords fell, so they're technologically primitive. Their government, if you call it a government, is pretty much along the lines of 'she who bashes in the most skulls rules' but they're generally only at war with the clan that lives over an inland sea. Umm, also, I think they might be cannibals."

"What?" many voices demanded in unison, but Rodney's wail was definitely the loudest.

"Mission report!"

"Daniel," Cassandra called, in a tone that matched Jack's exasperated warnings so well Daniel's head whipped around. "I read that mission report cover to cover to prepare for this mission, and there is zero mention of cannibalism."

"Well, no, actually, I did mention funerary consumption rites."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Wow. Really channeling Jack today, aren't you?"

"I thought that meant pyres!"

"It's really not all that rare among primitive human societies – " This elicited a rousing chorus of "Excuse me?" but again Rodney was the loudest. " – that were migratory like these clans. Since they would move away from any burial ground, and as you can see, there aren't a lot of trees for funeral pyres, they consider consuming their dead a respectful way to … inter the remains."

"That's disgusting," Ronon said flatly.

"Can we just go back to the Stargate?" Rodney asked. "Please?"

"You don't want the ZPM anymore?" Daniel countered. The single questioned spawned a rapid-fire back-and-forth between the two men.

"Not if it means someone might eat me!"

"They only do it at funerals – "

"Oh, well, that makes it okay then."

" – and even in the unlikely event you did die, they wouldn't do the consuming rites without our permission."

"I feel so much better about walking into a village full of primitive cannibals now that I know all of that. Come on, everyone, let's pick up the pace. The nice people are waiting for us so they can chow down!" Rodney had worked himself into a frenzy by the time he finished.

"Rodney, I just said it's only at funerals. So as long as you don't fall over dead the minute you enter the village, you'll be fine. And even if you do, we'll just tell them not to consume you. They probably wouldn't want to anyway since you're not one of them. They would expect us to … inter you."

"Perhaps we should not focus on these strange customs, but find some common ground with these people," Teyla suggested, before Rodney could retort. "The Goa'uld took humans from Earth long ago, yes? Is some part of their culture similar to a people on Earth? Or perhaps they have something in common with Athosian or Satedans or Hankans."

"Satedans don't eat people." Ronon's wicked grin spoiled his deadpan joke, but it did earn him a reproachful glare from Teyla and laughs from Cassandra and John. Jennifer and Mr. Woolsey felt too badly to care much about conversation in general.

Daniel grasped for some common element, but struggled to come up with anything remotely similar. Cassandra took pity on him and offered her own suggestion.

"Migrating societies like the Sarnasians are usually matriarchal."

"That's true," the archeologist said. "Are the Athosians or Satedans …?" Both Ronon and Teyla were shaking their heads. Their societies were – or had been – egalitarian, not matriarchal, as Cassandra already knew.

"Empowered women cannibals. Joy," Rodney muttered.

"I'm talking about Hanka," Cassandra said, ignoring Rodney. "The men were always out in the fields farming or in the forest hunting, so the women ruled the villages: government, education, trade." A wicked smile flashed, and she laughed heartily. "Even among the kids, the girls always got their way. I remember the poor boys tagging along after us too afraid we'd get mad to say they didn't like our games."

She saw an image of five children running through a field playing a game like tag. The girls – Alessa, Cesca, and herself – tapped each other lightly, but they pounded on the boys – Angelos and Niko – who took their licks with silent dignity.

"I always did like the girls on the playground who pushed me down in the mud," John mused.

"Not surprising, Colonel," Jennifer said, with a laugh. She looked much better in the last ten minutes and gratefully accepted the water bottle Rodney held out to her. She drank long and deeply, and then went to check on Mr. Woolsey, who was falling further behind.

The village appeared on the distant horizon as a series of indistinct blobs rising like half-circles from the flat plain. A group of villagers rode out to meet the team on sturdy, sharp-toothed horse-like creatures. The villagers themselves looked as human as anyone, but small and gaunt, more like underfed third world refugees than a warrior culture.

Their leader was a middle-aged woman called Illeh who wore an assortment of red beads in her white blonde hair. No one else in the village wore anything red, either as clothing or decoration. She came forward to greet her visitors when they reached the village. Daniel she welcomed by name, and she took a long moment to observe each of the team as he introduced them.

"Your world puts men in charge too much. Even one who is clearly ill can be put in charge," Illeh commented. Mr. Woolsey had made a valiant effort walking the three miles to the village, but it had taken its toll on him. "Come with me. I'll show you to the place we have prepared for you."

They followed Illeh through the village. Women cleaning spear-like weapons looked up frequently to stare as they passed, and the men tending animals and children called friendly greetings to the newcomers.

"Talk about role reversal," John muttered. "Not that any of these women look like they could push me down in the mud. They're warriors, really? Everyone looks like they're starving."

"Yes, well, their enemies are their size too, so I'd say it's a fair fight," Daniel answered.

The place the Sarnasians had set aside for the team was a kind of wigwam structure. The wall fabric was made out of leather and lined with blue-black fur, but the ground was only packed dirt covered with reeds. Illeh left them to settle in and said she would be back to speak to them soon.

"How long do we have to be here?" Rodney whined.

"As long as it takes to work out a trade agreement." John glanced worriedly at Mr. Woolsey, who sagged against one of the thick wooden support posts. "All right. Let's get the gear unloaded. These people don't look like they have so much as an apple to spare, so we'll use our own rations as long as we can."

Cassandra had played this game often during her first few years on Earth. Whenever she went camping with Jack or Sam or her mom, she would pretend she was on an off world adventure with SG-1. The adults might have been amazed at how seriously a twelve-year-old took setting up camp, but back then, she had thought it was training for her future career as an explorer on an SG team.

The team milled around the wigwam unrolling thermal sleeping bags and unclipping packs from their flak jackets. Jennifer's items lay forgotten as she did what she could to ease Mr. Woolsey's discomfort, but Rodney resisted the call of his tablet computer to take care of it for her. Teyla and Daniel stored the food while Ronon and John walked the perimeter around their temporary dwelling to assess the security.

After gathering up all the canteens scattered about on the sleeping bags, Cassandra pushed open the door flap and headed for the stream they had crossed on their way into the village.

"Where are you going?" Ronon asked, appearing from behind the hut.

She started and dropped three of the canteens. "What have I told you about sneaking up on me? I didn't see any kind of well in the village, and John says we're using our own rations, so I'm going to fill up the water bottles."

"Not alone you're not."

"Please, Ronon. I have a Beretta, a zat, a belt knife, and two of your knives hidden on me. Plus, even the simplest Bantos move would probably break these poor people's ribs. I think I can go get water." He stared at her levelly with arched eyebrows. "Oh, fine. Come on."

"So much for always getting your way," he murmured tantalizingly in her ear. "And good luck pushing me into the dirt."

o o o

Illeh returned to the team an hour later and invited the delegation to come to her home and begin the negotiations for the ZPM. The head woman waited outside the wigwam patiently while Mr. Woolsey conferred with his team.

"Dr. Jackson, I'm going to take you up on your offer to lead the negotiations. Cassandra will go with you. She knows all the details. Take Dr. McKay to examine the ZPM and verify it's worth pursuing. I'll be fine, Dr. Keller, but distributing those medicines could be vital to the success of the negotiations."

It was all he could manage to say before another wave of nausea rolled over him. Daniel and Cassandra retreated from his makeshift bed where Jennifer checked his condition. The team met just inside the door flap to finalize their plans.

"Rodney, Daniel, Cassie, you go with Illeh to the negotiations. I don't care what Woolsey says, he can't stay here. Ronon and I will get him back to the Stargate, and I'll tell Landry I've taken command of the mission. Teyla, you go with Jennifer to see about getting the medicine to the villagers." They followed John's orders quickly and without complaint, except for Mr. Woolsey who began protesting immediately.

Illeh greeted Cassandra with a formal warmth, and Daniel and Rodney with passable civility. Once inside the head woman's home, a slightly larger wigwam structure and adorned with paintings that told the history of the Sarnasians, they gathered around the center cooking fire and sat cross-legged. The ZPM hung from the ceiling by a rope net like some strange bird in a cage. Rodney gave a little moan when he saw it swinging like a lantern.

"Thank you for agreeing to discuss – "

Illeh held up her hand and shook her head. "We talked with you before, Daniel, because your leader was ill and we could not speak with her." Cassandra realized with a jolt Illeh meant Vala. "Now you have a leader among you, and it is proper for her to speak on your behalf."

Cassandra glanced helplessly at Daniel. He leaned in and muttered under his breath, "Anthropologists always honor the local culture."

"I can't negotiate a trade deal with aliens," she hissed back. "I haven't even passed the bar exam yet."

"This would have happened whether Woolsey was sick or not. He knew that, and that's why you're here. If you don't, we can go back and have SG-9 take over, but then the ZPM goes to some department in Area 51."

She looked at Rodney on her other side. He had taken out his favorite Ancient gadget – a converted life signs detector – to scan the energy readings from the ZPM. He stared back intently. "Cassie …."

Steeling herself to do the impossible, Cassandra took a deep breath to clear her head and faced Illeh over the smoldering fire. "On behalf of all the people of Earth, I sincerely thank you for allowing us to come to your village and for being open to the possibility of trade relations between our two worlds."

Talks went on for several hours, and for most of those hours, Rodney fidgeted and sighed significantly. Cassandra tried to ignore him and focus on Illeh, but it felt like they spoke different languages. The ZPM was a cultural icon for the Sarnasians, much as it had been to humans on Earth when Ra ruled the planet, and she didn't understand the power of modern medicines.

"I will speak with the First Woman and give you our answer when you return tomorrow," Illeh concluded.

Cassandra left the house disheartened. "While she prays to a Goa'uld who's probably dead, we've gotten nowhere."

"That's not true, Cassie," Daniel objected. "You got her to understand how much we want the ZPM. We'll just have to show her what we could give them in return.

Back at their lodging, they found Ronon and John had returned after sending Mr. Woolsey through the Stargate, kicking and screaming the whole way. He left a spate of instructions for Cassandra that John repeated, but admitted he'd probably forgotten half of the litany. Teyla and Jennifer had not returned yet.

"So how did negotiations go?" John asked.

"It was a good start," Daniel said. "Although Rodney probably shouldn't come tomorrow since all he did was distract Cassie from the negotiations."

"Oh, forgive me for getting a charley horse in my leg."

"Wait. Cassie, you're doing the negotiating?"

"Yeah," she said slowly. "Illeh said that it wouldn't be proper to negotiate with Daniel when a woman was there to speak for him. Since Rodney determined the ZPM is definitely worth the effort of negotiating, I didn't see as I had much choice but to give it a try."

Teyla and Jennifer appeared down the long lane – barely more than trampled earth – winding through the village. John, Daniel, and Rodney went to help them with the medical case and get any information they had about the villagers.

"Bet you were great," Ronon said.

"I could have used some backup in there. I wish I'd thought to have Teyla come with me. I'm not a leader the way she and Illeh are. But I guess it wasn't a total loss. They're going to pray to some long-dead Goa'uld and come back with an answer tomorrow."

As Cassandra found out the following morning, the Sarnasians had not prayed to a long dead Goa'uld. The First Woman was, in fact, a real person. Illeh refused to allow Daniel inside her home for the second round of negotiations by saying it was sacrilege for any man to look upon the First Woman. Against his advice, and threat to radio Colonel Sheppard, Cassandra followed Illeh inside. As she had told Ronon, what could these half-starved women do to her?

The First Woman sat in a chair before the fire, the only such piece of furniture like it in the village and new addition to Illeh's home. She wore flowing white robes rimmed with gold and bangles around her wrists and hips. Her jet black hair fell over her exposed brown shoulders and pooled in her lap.

Cassandra approached with her eyes averted respectfully as she had noticed the villagers did with Illeh. Whoever this woman was, she clearly held a place of honor among the Sarnasians.

The woman rose from her seat and said, "I am Yami, the First Woman."

Cassandra felt her heart leap into her throat as a familiar song trilled in her blood.

o o o

Ronon stood with one leg on a boulder embedded in the red dirt with his arms resting on his thigh. He frowned into the distance with his eyes fixed on the half-circle building that was Illeh's house. Off to this left, John faced the village where Rodney, Teyla, and Jennifer distributed medical supplies to the undernourished population.

"I don't like this," he announced.

"I know, buddy, but we need the ZPM, so we've got to do things their way. Daniel's been doing this for twelve years. Everything will be fine."

They waited in companionable silence between the two groups of their people, ready to run in either direction if either team needed help. Everyone had agreed with Cassandra's assessment of the Sarnasians. What could underfed primitives do to their heavily armed team? Ronon seemed the only one who noticed these people used spears and arrows, and fire power couldn't protect them from those weapons.

Less than a half hour passed since Cassandra and Daniel marched away to meet the First Woman when shots rang out across the plain from the direction of Illeh's home.

"That's a Beretta!" John shouted.

Ronon was already sprinting towards the gunfire with his particle magnum drawn. The villagers he passed shrank away at the sight of such a large warrior – and a male, at that – charging through their streets, but Ronon cared less about their customs just then. His people, including Cassandra, were in danger. Whoever fired the sidearm continued to do so, and Ronon counted the shots as he ran full tilt through the village. Someone emptied the full clip and the shots stopped.

"_All teams fall back to the guest quarters, but proceed with caution_," John ordered through the radio. "_You may be entering a combat situation._"

With Illeh's house in sight, Ronon saw all of the women who had escorted Daniel and Cassandra away that morning stood outside in a circle giving the house a wide berth. Daniel lay sprawled on the ground, but bore no other signs of a wound except a gash on his forehead. John skidded to a halt beside the archeologist, and Ronon barged into the head woman's house.

He stopped short at the sight playing out in the circular room lit only by a dying fire. A raven-haired woman dressed in white and gold lay crumbled on the dirty floor with blood oozing out of numerous bullet wounds. Over her, Cassandra stood with the standard issue Beretta in hand. Her finger pumped the trigger steadily, but the gun only clicked with no bullets left to enter the chamber. She wore fury on her face.

"Cassandra." The clicking of the empty chamber was the only answer. "Cassandra. Cassie."

She started when addressed by her Earth nickname and dropped the arm holding the empty Beretta. When she turned to him, Ronon saw not an ounce of remorse or panic in her eyes. She simply stared, blankly, and said nothing at all.

John came into the room supporting a newly conscious Daniel. The two men looked searchingly from the dead woman on the floor to Cassandra, but still she offered no explanation. At last, John could resist no longer.

"Did she attack you?"

"No," Cassandra answered bluntly. She turned to peer down at the dead woman again, and with her attention diverted, the three men exchanged worried, uneasy looks. "She was a Goa'uld."

Daniel went forward on shaky legs and bent down to examine a flash of gold jewelry. The dead woman's hand rolled away from her body to reveal a winding band around her forearm with gold finger caps and a red crystal in her palm. The archeologist sighed deeply.

"We always knew we couldn't kill all the Goa'uld. When the System Lords fell the lesser Goa'uld went to ground on their most backwater planets. Not many of them survived their people's wrath, but …. Cassie, I'm sorry, I should have come in here with you. Then you wouldn't have had to – "

"Her name was Yami." Daniel paled slightly. "I'm glad you weren't here, Daniel. I couldn't kill Nirrti, but at least I got her."

Cassandra moved around the men and stalked out of the house, the drawn Beretta still in her hand. Ronon heard a gasp from the villagers gathered outside and followed immediately. She was already several yards ahead, but he caught up to her easily.

"Tell me what happened. Why did you kill her?"

"Yami is the Hindu goddess of death, specifically of women's souls in Hell. She was a lesser Goa'uld in service to Nirrti, the one who killed everyone on Hanka and experimented on my people to find herself a _hok'taur_. When I got close enough, I sensed she was a Goa'uld, and then she told me her name. She felt the naquadah in my blood and figured out who I was too late."

By the time John and Daniel arrived at their lodging, Ronon had explained the whole thing to Rodney, Jennifer, and Teyla while Cassandra stood off to side gradually losing the fury as the shock settled in. He told Jennifer to check on her, and doctor sprang into action.

"We should get out of here now," John said. "The villagers are giving us a wide berth for now, but I don't know how long that will last."

"But what about the ZPM?" Rodney demanded.

"That's probably a pipedream at this point. We probably never could have gotten it considering we were negotiating with a Goa'uld the whole time and didn't know it. Once she figured out why we wanted it, she would have kept it for herself."

"They'll give it to me. They'll give me anything I want," Cassandra stated. She batted away the penlight Jennifer shone into her eyes.

"No offense, Cassie, but you just killed their god."

"You've never grown up on a planet ruled by the goddess of death and destruction, John. They're shocked anyone could kill Yami. She's Death to them. Capital D. But they're grateful too." She stood up despite Jennifer's protest. "I'm going to get ZPM. I'll tell Illeh that we'll give her people medicine and whatever agriculture help they need in exchange."

In the end, John refused to allow her to go alone. The whole team packed up their gear and went to see Illeh together, all braced for a fight and hasty retreat to the Stargate. Twenty minutes later, they walked out of the village with Rodney carrying the ZPM inside a black case. The Sarnasians retreated into their homes until the god-killers had left.

"So is it over now?" Cassandra asked Ronon on the trek back to the Stargate. "I've come full circle. Will I be able to move on now?"

He didn't answer for a long time, but when he did, he gave an honest answer. "Maybe."


	11. Nocturne in Black and Gold

**CHAPTER ELEVEN  
NOCTURNE IN BLACK AND GOLD: THE FALLING ROCKET**

The emergency summons through the room's intercom roused Ronon from a deep sleep. Beside him on the narrow bed, Cassandra shifted but slept on until he shook her awake.

"Woolsey says there's something for us to see in the control room."

She yawned widely and stumbled out the door after him. She hadn't slept well since they'd gotten back from P1J-D2X. Sometimes Ronon heard her talking about kites in her sleep, but other times she held conversations with Nirrti or her mother. He hadn't said anything about her dream conversations … yet.

Teyla and John had already gathered in the control room, but Rodney met up with his team several minutes later looking as bleary-eyed as Cassandra. He always looked that way after being awoken in the middle of the night; she rarely did.

"As you know, the _Daedalus_ upgrades were completed several weeks ago, and Colonel Caldwell was sent back to Pegasus to assess the situation there," Mr. Woolsey explained. He nodded to Chuck, who brought up a video on the wall-mounted screen. "We received this transmission via the _Daedalus_ fifteen minutes ago."

The Ancient lights and scrolling text vanished and were replaced by a video feed heavy with static. Laden Radem appeared on the screen in the dark green, copper-trimmed Genii uniform. Ronon didn't like the Genii leader at all, but the firm set of his mouth and lines of worry around his eyes told Ronon he would sympathize with the Genii a little more after watching this message.

"This is Laden Radem of the Genii calling the _Daedalus_. Our sensors have indicated you are above our planet. Please respond. We have a message for Atlantis." Colonel Caldwell's voice instructed Laden to continue a few moments later. "Since your departure, the situation in the Pegasus galaxy has grown desperate. The Wraith are culling Coalition planets without opposition, and those that resist are destroyed. We know already of three planets to meet his fate. The Genii have taken as many refugees as we can, but we cannot fight the Wraith as you can. We have no ships and no delivery system for our atomic weapons to target their hives in space.

"The Coalition understands why you took Atlantis to your galaxy, but the Wraith threat must be defeated now if you are able to send the _Daedalus_ back to Pegasus. We ask you to return and help us fight the Wraith again, as you convinced our Coalition you would do. Millions of lives are at stake. We cannot win this war alone."

The transmission ended with a frozen capture of Laden's pleading face. Ronon pushed off from the table he had been leaning against and paced around the control room with clenched fists, feeling furious and helpless, but not forgetting that according to John, in another timeline, when the IOA abandoned Pegasus, he had raised an army to fight the Wraith.

"I'll arrange meetings at the highest level," Cassandra said.

"To do what?" John asked, a touch of regret in his voice. "The IOA will never allow Atlantis to leave Earth now that we've lost the Antarctic weapons platform."

"I didn't say the IOA. We go straight to Home World Command, to Jack. We convince him and the President it's in Earth's best interest to send Atlantis, and the IOA will follow."

"That's not the way this expedition works," Woolsey started, but his assistant cut him off.

"This isn't an expedition, Richard. We're anchored in San Francisco bay for Christ's sake. We're a glorified guard dog."

Cassandra's use of his first name for the first time caught his attention. Ronon could see him considering a course that would shatter his chain of command and possibly lead to him losing his job. Woolsey had proven he had more of a backbone than anyone originally thought, though, and he showed it again now.

"All right, we'll try it." He looked from Ronon to Teyla. "There is no guarantee this will work, but we'll give it every effort. Don't forget, I was the one who promised the Coalition that Atlantis would be there to fight. This is as much my responsibility as anyone's."

Ronon clapped the leader hard on the shoulder and grinned down at him, although from his startled expression, it wasn't as reassuring a gesture as Ronon meant it to be.

"I'll set up the meetings discretely," Cassandra said. She looked awake and ready to spring into action. "I'll go directly through Walter Harriman so no one gets wind of it. No, Rodney, no going back to bed. I need to talk to you now about science stuff. I think you're the only one who can really prove to the IOA Atlantis needs to go back." She grabbed the shoulder of Rodney's jacket and dragged him off towards the transporter that would go to his lab.

"Hey!" he protested. "Is this how Hankan woman show appreciation for one's intellect? By man-handling people?"

"Yes. Although Hankan woman don't really show appreciation for intelligence. We just wanted men who could handle a plow and cut down trees," she quipped and nudged him into the transporter. "Anyway, I thought you had a thing for forceful blondes."

"I do. And apparently you're Hankan at heart because, let me tell you, I have seen Ronon chop firewood …."

The transporter doors closed, cutting off their conversation that had, against all odds, lightened the mood in the control room. Despite the midnight hour, Woolsey invited Ronon, Teyla, and John into his office to discuss other, less scientific, arguments to present to Home World Command.

o o o

The SF guarding the door leading to the holding cell ran his hand in front of the panel, and it slid back to reveal a long corridor with a metal cage made of horizontal metal bars at the end. Trembling, Cassandra walked forward to see the Wraith standing in the center of the cell. He was taller than the other Wriath she had seen with skin a lighter shade of green. Black facial markings and white blond hair seemed standard issue for their species, and yet she could tell the difference as easily as she knew one human from another. They called this one Todd.

"You're new," he said, by way of a greeting. "Sheppard informed me I would have no more guests since I am so uncooperative."

He had a sunken look about him, starving and withered inside his own skin. Cassandra knew he had not fed in months, possibly in five or six, and yet all she had read about the Wraith said they could last only around four months without feeding on a human.

"There is a possibility this city is going back to Pegasus. Perhaps you'll be more cooperative if you know there is a chance you may go home."

The Wraith laughed, but the sound was chilling. "Home. I will never return to my hive. You will keep me here in this cell until I starve or agree to Dr. Keller's treatment, which as we all know will kill me anyway."

"How many ZPMs did you have before your … underling usurped your place?"

The Wraith peered at her through the metal slats with disconcerting cat-slit yellow eyes. "I have been through this with more of your people than I can count. If you have nothing new to say, leave!"

"Could you feed on me?"

Cassandra pressed shaking hands to her thighs to hide her nervousness. She played a dangerous game here, taunting a starving predator and using herself as bait. Todd knew enough about Earth humans that he might call her bluff, but she gambled that she could talk him around to the point of this conversation and make him believe it had been his idea.

The Wraith started and pulled back white lips to reveal pointed crystalline teeth. "Are you volunteering?"

"I have a certain element in my blood that I'm positive no human in Pegasus galaxy ever has."

"I sense nothing wrong with you. Your life force is strong. But … we cannot sense the Hoffan drug. We may not be able to sense this element either."

"Then you could feed on me. But would you?"

The Wraith made a disappointed sound in the back of his throat. "Others may, but my survival instinct is strong. I would not try it. Not that you would follow through if I would."

Cassandra nodded. "You're right, I wouldn't. And to be honest, I didn't think you would want to try, but I had to ask if there was any possibility we could reach an agreement." She turned to leave, but the Wraith called out after her.

"There may be another way. You are the first human in this city who seems to understand all it will take to loosen my tongue is a meal. Stay awhile, and let's see if we can find a compromise."

o o o

The Asgard beam teleported Mr. Woolsey and Cassandra into a large office suite with lush blue carpet and handsome wooden desks. Walter Harriman rose from his desk in the outer office to welcome them.

"General O'Neill is finishing up a call with the President. He'll be ready in – now."

Jack emerged from his office with a big smile for Cassandra. She tried to restrain herself and remain professional, but she hadn't seen Jack in over two months and had barely spoken to him in all that time. She walked into his embrace and promptly pulled back when the hardware on his chest bit into her cheek.

"We'll save the hugs for off duty hours."

Jack motioned for the two Atlantis personnel to come into his office. General Landry already occupied a seat in front of Jack's desk, and he got up to greet the newcomers. When they had gained their seats again, Mr. Woolsey began.

"Generals, thank you for – "

Jack had a hand up. "Skip the pleasantries, Richard. Just tell us why you think Atlantis should go back to Pegasus."

Unflappable as always, Mr. Woolsey segued into the arguments without hesitation. "Less than a year ago, using my authority as leader of the Atlantis Expedition, I brokered a deal with a Coalition of planets in the Pegasus galaxy. That agreement stipulates that Atlantis leads the humans of the galaxy in the fight against the Wraith. In exchange for this, we have peace with a number of worlds where previously our teams could not go for risk of imprisonment or worse. We also have not extensively shared the technology required to defeat the Wraith, such as space flight or even weapons deployment systems. Simply put, the human worlds of the Pegasus galaxy do not have the ability to defeat the Wraith. We have brought to Earth the greatest asset in the fight against the Wraith."

"What about the lives on Earth?" General Landry asked. "Now that we've lost the Ancient weapons platform, we're defenseless too, against Wraith or Lucian Alliance or God knows what else out there."

"That is not entirely true, General. We have many battlecruisers and more in production. Of all the worlds in Pegasus we've visited, only one civilization has hyperspace travel. Even if the Travelers did agree to fight a war, their resources are finite and their ships are not new."

"We appreciate what you're here to do, Richard, but we're responsible for the safety of this planet not all the other ones in distant galaxies. I'm not saying I'm not open to the possibility of fighting the IOA on this, but you're going to have to give me a better bargaining position than 'we promised'," Jack said, not unkindly.

"Then how about this, General? If one Wraith can adapt a ZPM to function with a hive ship, then surely others can as well. Atlantis barely defeated the one hive that made it to Earth. Even with a backup ZPM, there is no guarantee we could win against two or more working in an alliance against us. The Wraith are kept busy for now by resisting human populations, like the Genii and Travelers, but sooner or later, without Atlantis to support them, their worlds will fall too and there will be nothing to stand between the Wraith and Earth. It would be better to have Atlantis in the Pegasus galaxy actively countering Wraith attempts to gain ZPMs and make it to Earth."

"I'm sure that will be awhile. It's not like ZPMs are lying around on every planet," Landry commented.

Cassandra spoke for the first time in the meeting. "The Wraith we call Todd is willing to tell us exactly how long that might be. He will tell us how many ZPMs he recovered from the Replicator city and where they are."

"_If_ …," Jack prompted.

"Well … he's hungry and he's a prisoner." The three men shifted uncomfortably as she added, "And we do have interstellar ships capable of sending him back to Pegasus …."

"We've been through this with him before," Jack said warningly. "It always comes back to bite us in the ass somehow."

"Yes, I know. Not surprisingly, this was his idea. And yet, it would solve two of our problems. We would know how long before the Wraith could conceivably reach Earth again, but most importantly, we could possibly find a way to retrieve those ZPMs so the Wraith can't come to Earth again."

Jack rubbed a hand over his forehead. "I'm having a hard time believing you're really suggesting this, Cassie. Releasing an evil alien species that has ruled a galaxy through fear and suppressed their technological development? Sounds familiar."

"I know. But it wouldn't be the first time. The SGC worked with Yu and Ba'al and even Nirrti when it was in our best interest."

Jack cringed. "Don't remind me."

"If we did get the ZPMs from the Wraith," Landry said, moving away from the more difficult subject, "it would negate the need to send Atlantis back to Pegasus."

"On the contrary, General," Mr. Woolsey interjected. His glance in Cassandra's direction told her he had figured out where she was going with this. "As I am certain Todd will tell us, the ZPMs are on a Wraith world or many Wraith worlds and retrieving them all would be a mission unto itself. A mission in need of a highly advanced off world base."

The Generals matched eyes over the desk. Cassandra knew the points had been well argued. Mr. Woolsey had done the leg work, but her piece of information had helped. The IOA would lose this battle.

o o o

"The Wraith have four more ZPMs located on these worlds," Mr. Woolsey announced at the senior staff meeting three days later. "And the IOA has decided Atlantis should return to Pegasus to retrieve them from the Wraith and carry out our standing orders."

The news was met with jubilance. The presentation couldn't continue for several moments as John and his team chattered excitedly about which worlds they would go to first and how many Wraith they might encounter. Jennifer and Carson bent their heads together to make a verbal list of planets they had left in need of medical assistance. Even Mr. Woolsey couldn't restrain himself and speculated on how he would appease the Coalition and solidify Atlantis's leadership position again.

Dr. Zelenka leaned over to Cassandra. "Not to rain on the parade or anything, but … what's to stop the IOA from recalling us after we have the ZPMs?"

"Don't worry, Radek." She flashed him a wicked smile. "I talked to Rodney about some … science stuff that I may have forgotten to mention to Generals Landry and O'Neill."

The Czech's eyebrows rose dramatically. "You're not going to destroy … ?" he rushed, but she shook her head. "Oh? _Oh!_ You are devious, Cassandra. I'll remember to never get on your bad side. How did you come up with the idea?"

"You're one of five people who know about this, Radek …."

"Oh, you can count on my silence. You look positively gleeful about hoodwinking the IOA."

"What can I say? It's a little payback for some friends of mine."

The news spread through Atlantis like wide fire. The atmosphere on base went from the ordinary buzz of daily activity to high excitement. The science teams launched into brainstorming how to continue their previous experiments, the military units stepped up their off world training regiments, and the technicians began a full battery of diagnostics throughout the city.

Cassandra's desk and e-mail inbox quickly became the dumping ground for test results, inventory, and requisitions. That was not a bad thing because Mr. Woolsey had charged her with overseeing the complete resupply of the city. She spent most of her time away from her desk inspecting the completed repairs to the city structure and chasing down personnel who had yet to submit their inventory reports.

Daily operations continued with SG teams leaving and arriving through the Atlantis Stargate, but soon they would all be transferred back to the SGC, as much to their relief as to the Atlantis teams'. Gradually, SG teams and F-302 squads took over the task of hunting down any Wraith that popped up on the sensors. A puddle jumper was still the best way to transport an entire team, and sometimes John or Major Lorne's team took the mission.

Whenever Cassandra or Mr. Woolsey passed an Athosian in the corridors, they were obliged to stop and accept thanks for returning Atlantis to Pegasus. It seemed to unnerve Mr. Woolsey to touch foreheads with so many strangers, but Cassandra grew to appreciate their show of affection and how it introduced her to so many new friends she had not had the opportunity to meet before.

"Teyla tells us the people on your home world were farmers, like us," Halling said, during one of their brief conversations as Cassandra hurried from the central tower to the botany lab.

"That's right. We grew a kind of root vegetable like a carrot."

"When we return to Pegasus, you and Mr. Woolsey must come to the Athosian settlement for a celebratory feast in your honor."

"That's very kind, Halling."

Their exchange had done more than embarrass Cassandra. It had shown her that everyone part of the Atlantis expedition assumed she would be coming with them. Between her mad dashes across the city, meetings with SGC and IOA, and the few minutes she could spare every day to see Ronon, the possibility had not really crossed her mind. She was a Milky Way galaxy native, a product of Goa'uld oppression. Why would she go to another galaxy?

She was flung into turmoil as soon as she asked herself the question. She could not imagine living in Pegasus, but neither could she imagine living millions of light-years away from the best friends she had ever had. And much as her independent mind hated to admit it, she did not want to be a galaxy away from Ronon.

As she debated her decision, she noticed more keenly how seamlessly she had become part of this team. Mr. Woolsey rarely gave her a direct order anymore; he assumed she knew what he needed doing. Off world teams had stopped crowding the gate room and waited for her signal to gather in front of the Stargate. Personnel disputes had started coming to her as requests for meetings with Mr. Woolsey rather than tirades with her as a human barricade in front of his office door. Movie night and poker night had long ago become enjoyable events for her. When she walked into the mess hall for meals, there were smiling faces all around to invite her to sit and chat. Sparring practice was a daily routine, and the constant loses ceased to matter because her opponents were friends who would still like her even if she failed miserably.

"You seem distracted, Cassandra," Mr. Woolsey observed. The deadline for Atlantis's departure from Earth approached at a rapid clip, and their work load had doubled as the one month mark ticked by. "I think I know why. The bar examinations are coming up, and with all your additional work, you haven't had time for a traditional bar study. I had always planned on giving you some time off for that. It will be difficult without you here, but we'll manage if you feel you need the time for study."

"Oh, umm …. Yes, that is part of it, I suppose."

"What is the other part, if I can ask?"

She signed and laid her tablet computer down on his desktop. "I haven't decided to come to Pegasus."

Her boss looked genuinely surprised by that statement, but marshaled his thoughts quickly. "This is a volunteer mission, of course. But, Cassandra, you've become an integral part of our base team. I've seen you make friends and … a partnership. I thought you enjoyed your work and your colleagues."

"I do, Mr. Woolsey. I do. But this galaxy is my inheritance. I don't know if I belong in Pegasus."

He nodded slowly. "I can understand that, but I hope you come to think otherwise. You have shown me you are a practical woman, so let me provide a practical argument for you to consider. You have not made friends in the IOA. Helen Lackey, in particular, wants to see you gone. That you are an alien and that you have close ties to the military will always be obstacles for you. As my executive assistant, you have an opportunity to prove yourself. If you don't come with us to Pegasus, I'm not sure Helen will give you a chance to find any other position in the IOA."

Cassandra bowed her head and stared at the floor. "I hadn't considered that. In fact, I didn't even realize my mother and godparents were even part of the argument against me. I think Jack and Sam tried to tell me that when I first took this job, but I had already made up my mind."

"I don't mean to overstep my bounds, but … What does Ronon have to say?"

The personal question coming from Mr. Woolsey caught her off guard. She groped for words. "I don't know. I haven't mentioned this to anyone else. I'm accustomed to making decision by myself based on what's best for me."

"I see, and I can't fault you for it because I do the same. Of course, that's why I'm divorced and without a dog."

She searched for a response, but came up with none.

o o o

Ronon ducked the Bantos rod and grabbed for Cassandra's wrist, but she twisted and brought down the stick to strike his hip. He parried easily.

"I told you never go low. That's what your opponent will expect."

She came at him again, and defying all his advice, aimed low again. With well-placed strike to the back of her calves, she dropped like a stone onto the mat. Ronon loomed over her, and held out a hand.

"Do the unexpected."

Cassandra let him pull her to her feet, and she smacked his arm with the one Bantos rod she'd managed to hold onto. "Watch the legs. I have to be able to run all over the city to get everything done in time."

She hobbled over to the window bench – greatly exaggerating the pain, he thought – and took up a bottle of water. Ronon cast himself onto the seat beside her and waited until she caught her breath.

The gym was deserted so late at night, and they had the whole space to practice alone. It gave them both more freedom. The marines, especially the one named Colby, took issue with Ronon actually getting hits when Cassandra fumbled her footing or moved too slowly. Cassandra always seemed more determined to prove the strikes hadn't hurt when others watched their sparring sessions. Eventually, she had explained that on Earth it was frowned upon for men and women who were dating to hit each other with wooden sticks. On Sateda, it was encouraged.

"Did I really hurt you?"

"No," she said, flexing her calf muscles. "Just stings a little. You know I'm tougher than I look."

They fell into companionable silence for several minutes just enjoying the feeling of their arms touching and cool glass at their backs. At last, Cassandra shifted in her seat to look over at him. There was worry etched around her eyes, and she fiddled with the bottom seam of her t-shirt.

"It's good that Atlantis is going back to Pegasus." Ronon's brow furrowed. What should have been a happy statement, she made sound like a line in a eulogy. He said nothing and let her continue uninterrupted. "I always thought that it should. The Ancients left the city there for a reason, and not just because there were Wraith over Lantea. The city belongs in Pegasus. But … I'm not sure that I do."

He resisted the urge to leap to his feet and pace off the surge of emotion – anger or fear or whatever it was. Instead, he tightened his hands into fists on his thighs and looked away from Cassandra.

"The Milky Way is my home in a much wider sense than most of the rest of this expedition. They overthrew Ra thousands of years before the rest of the galaxy. I've lived under Goa'uld rule, and I feel like I owe the people of this galaxy my … I don't know, my talents, my efforts."

A deep frown marred Ronon's face. "The Goa'uld are defeated. There's only a handful on backwater planets, but you'd rather stay here and let the fear of the Wraith rule Pegasus? There are battles here, maybe, but there's a war in Pegasus."

"There's important work to do here that I think the SGC has neglected since the System Lords were defeated. Even one planet with a Goa'uld overlord is one too many, and I'll keep fighting until every last human in this galaxy is free."

The tension in Ronon's shoulders melted away, and he leaned back against the window again. Not long ago, he'd said he would fight until every last Wraith was dead. He'd meant it then and still intended it now.

"I'm not saying I won't come to Pegasus. Mr. Woolsey just informed me that if I don't, I might not be part of the Stargate program at all because the IOA isn't overly fond of having an alien raised by high-ranking military officers in their midst. I'm saying that I have a decision to make."

"So why'd you tell me if you haven't made up your mind?"

A rueful smile passed over her lips. "Because I took advice from someone who doesn't know you as well as I do."

"No, I'm glad you told me. I just didn't think you would," he added in a more jesting tone, "being the superior Hankan woman that you are."

"Okay, Mr. Machismo, let's go another round." She stood up and swung the Bantos rods around. "I am going to get one hit in before the night is over."

Ronon joined her in the center of the gym, twirling his own rods as he approached. Their easy banter had returned, but underneath lingered the question of how much longer it would last.


	12. Aurochs

**CHAPTER TWELVE  
AUROCHS**

The emergency call for Colonel Sheppard's team went out just as John and Ronon finished running the bridge. Woolsey's voice in their earpieces sounded more urgent than usual, and tired though they were from their competitive workout, they doubled timed it to the central tower. Rodney sat at the bank of computers along the back wall with his head bent over the keys.

"We've detected two Wraith darts over the south Pacific headed towards New Zealand. The _Sun Tzu_ is in lunar orbit and has scrambled 302's, but a puddle jumper could get there just as quickly."

Woolsey had no sooner finished explaining than John gave his orders. "Gear up."

Ronon didn't need to be told twice. He ran for the ready room. Just fifteen minutes later, the puddle jumper exited the jumper bay through the retracted ceiling and cloaked immediately. Drive pods opened, and John piloted the Ancient ship east across the Pacific Ocean. Teyla occupied the co-pilot chair while Rodney sat in the back typing furiously on his tablet computer.

"I think if you hit the keys harder it'll work faster," Ronon needled.

Now that they were inbound in the puddle jumper, with time to kill before they were anywhere near the darts, the sense of urgency had abated. There was nothing to do but fly and wait. The rest of the team had learned that long ago, but Rodney wasn't able to function unless the threat of death was imminent.

"Oh, very funny," Rodney retorted, still punching the keys forcefully.

According to John, the puddle jumper flew much faster through the atmosphere than normal Earth aircraft, but even so, it was three hours until the HUD showed them approaching the darts. The screen in the front window showed only two remaining darts flying low to the surface.

"So much for covering that up with some lame excuse," Ronon said. He thought keeping the Stargate a secret was pointless since aliens had started attacking Earth in spaceships almost immediately after discovering the planet existed.

"Maybe not. Dusk is falling, and they're flying in circles around Palau. It's not exactly a metropolis." Rodney said. "Wait. Why are they flying in circles over Palau?"

"They are culling," Teyla said gravely. "They have found a vulnerable part of your world and are now taking advantage of it."

"You mean there are people stored in those ships?" John growled. He keyed the radio. "Sheppard to _Sun Tzu_. Be advised the darts are culling and possibly have people stored in their buffers."

An accented voice replied. "This is Colonel Chen of the _Sun Tzu_. Squadrons have been advised."

"Aren't you going to say 'don't shoot to kill' or something?" Rodney demanded.

"It doesn't work like that, Rodney. Firing drones and missiles is a lot harder than aiming with a gun. They'll do their best, but these are Wraith darts we're talking about. They're not going to make it easy for us."

Ronon braced his arms against the seat as the Wraith darts appeared in the front window and John started the combat maneuvers. Rodney and Teyla did the same in their seats. They had learned the hard way inertial dampeners only did so much of the work.

One of the darts broke away and led the chase over the ocean. The small Ancient ship turned faster than the darts and had a better pilot at the helm. John fired drones at the first dart. It burst into flames and showered down onto the choppy waves below. Ronon saw the regret on his friend's face, but there was nothing he could have done. Drones weren't made to take out engines or clip wings; they were made for total destruction.

With one dart destroyed, the other ended the culling early and veered away from the islands. The puddle jumper changed course as four 302's joined the pursuit. Two more 302's headed off the dart's attempt to escape into the upper atmosphere. They closed in on the dart and seven ships readied their weapons.

o o o

"Jumper One is approaching the target," Chuck said.

The control room launched into action, and Cassandra came out from behind her desk as Mr. Woolsey joined the crew from his office. Together, they stood by Chuck's station and watched the sensors on the back wall. The technician filled in gaps the screen could not show, such as speed and estimated time of arrival.

The light indicating the first Wraith dart disappeared, and John maneuvered the puddle jumper around to attack the second dart when F-302s from the _Sun Tzu_ joined the Ancient ship. The tense air in the control room did not abate, but seven-to-one odds certainly gave them hope of total success. The Earth ships closed in together, and little lights indicating missiles and drones flared on the screen.

And then all the lights faded and winked out.

"What happened?" Mr. Woolsey demanded.

"I don't know," Chuck admitted. He pushed some buttons on his computer console, but shook his head. "It's possible the on board sensors were overloaded by the blast or … the dart could have self-destructed."

"Open a channel." When the technician signaled there was an open line between Atlantis and John's team, Mr. Woolsey spoke into his radio. "This is Atlantis to Jumper One. Do you read?" A pause and no response. "Colonel Sheppard, this is Atlantis. Please respond." Another pause and no reply.

Over the din of panicked voices and urgent orders, Cassandra heard a familiar sound.

_Someone was knocking on the door._

_ Cassie aimed the remote control at the television and tossed it onto the coffee table overflowing with her homework. A short break from Calculus had turned into a three and a half hour _Farscape_ marathon. Half-written college essays peeked out of information packets from schools as diverse as Yale, Northwestern, University of Colorado, and the Air Force Academy. _

_ "Coming!" she called, climbing from the couch. Her dog, a 'Welcome to Earth' present from Jack 6 years ago, beat his tail against the couch cushions. "You stay here, Homer."_

_ After checking her appearance in the mirror hanging over the couch – she wouldn't want Dominic to see her with chocolate smeared on her face – Cassie trotted to the door. A chilly burst of air hit her face before she opened the door no more than a crack, and snow drifted into the front entrance. She huddled down into her thick wool sweater and peered around the door._

_ "Oh, General Hammond! Come in, sir. My mom isn't home yet, but I assume you knew that."_

_ The door swung open fully in a gesture of welcome despite the cold and snow. And then Cassie saw him standing there next to General Hammond. The base chaplain. Hot and cold chills raced up her spine. She backed away, as if distance could keep the news from reaching her, and she saw her reflection in the hall mirror shaking her head furiously._

_ General Hammond stepped inside the house with the chaplain and closed the door with a snap. He wore his dress blues and had his hat tucked under his arm. It was all wrong. General Hammond was supposed to wear khaki shorts and Hawaiian print shirts and barbeque in his backyard._

_ "I'm very sorry to have to inform you, Cassie, that your mother passed away today. She died saving …"_

_ But Cassie didn't hear the rest. Her lower lip trembled and tears spilled from her eyes. She heard her voice saying something, and General Hammond dropped all pretense of military formality and wrapped her in a tight embrace._

_ "Sam is on her way over, Cassie. She'll be here soon."_

_ But Cassie kept repeating the same two words. "Not again. Not again."_

"Not again."

Cassandra felt a vague sense of someone speaking to her. Chuck maybe, since she had been standing beside him, or Mr. Woolsey. But she didn't try to answer. She turned and ran from the control room.

For a long time, Cassandra stayed curled up on her bed muttering unintelligibly. "But I came full circle. I killed a Goa'uld. I'm supposed to be okay. It's all supposed to be okay." She seemed to remember Carson coming into her room and apologizing for barging in, but she hadn't answered. He gave her something to help her sleep, and she faded into a memory disguised as a dream.

_ Alessa, Cesca, and Cassandra huddled together giggling conspiratorially and glancing over their shoulders at the two boys waiting uncomfortably by the road. Everyone knew Alessa liked Niko, and their mothers were best friends so they would probably be arranged in the next few years. What no one knew was how much Cassandra liked Angelos. _

_ "I don't know, Cassandra," Cesca hedged. "He's kind of big, isn't he?"_

_ "That's a good thing," Alessa giggled._

_ "But what if he's one of _those boys_?" Cesca demanded. They all knew what 'those boys' were like if they didn't like their wives ordering things her favorite way. "His dad was like that."_

_ "But Angelos isn't," Cassandra protested. "He's really nice. Please, Cesca. You know his sisters really well. Talk to them and see if he likes me at all." _

_ "I just don't know. He's scary looking."_

_ Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "Why won't you help me? It's because you like him, isn't it?"_

_ Alessa shifted her weight to stand between her two best friends. "Let's talk about this later. We don't have long until our mothers make us come back inside. Let's just finish the game. Please?"_

_ Cesca and Cassandra called a truce for the moment. Everyone knew it was bad luck not to fly a kite the day it was finished being made. They watched each other warily for the rest of the day, however._

_ The five children scrambled over fences clogged with brambles and through ditches full of reeds to get to the best field for kite-flying. Cassandra ran ahead, laughing and shouting out to her friends that she would get her kite to fly first._

_ They didn't answer, and that wasn't like Cesca to not show off whenever she could. Cassandra turned around to see what the matter was. All four of her friends lay on the ground. She abandoned the bluebird to the muddy field and ran back to them._

_ "What's wrong? Why – " A scream tore through her throat, and she scrambled backwards away from the ashen, pockmarked faces of her friends. After moments of terror, she fled back to the village as fast as her legs would carry her, but she found only – _

The door chime roused Cassandra from her nightmare. She felt exhausted, like she hadn't slept at all. Her eyes itched from the tears, and her throat felt as raw as if she'd been screaming for hours. Taking a drink from the water bottle on the nightstand and pausing in front of the mirror to run fingers through her hair, she tried to arrange herself into some manner of professionalism. After bolting from the control room like that, she would need every ounce of respectability when she faced Mr. Woolsey again, as she was undoubtedly about to do.

A voice in her head asked if it was worth the effort even. Four of her closest friends were dead. The world had stopped making sense. But Cassandra had been through this before when SG-1 found her on Hanka and when her mother died. General Hammond had been so kind when he came to see her, but at the funeral the military had all expected a calm sorrow. She had obliged them, knowing that they put a high premium on professionalism. She had lost her head in the control room, but she was herself again.

When her hand waved over the panel, the door slid open with that distinctive low note of Ancient hydraulics. The world seemed to stop spinning in an instant, leaving Cassandra lightheaded and still moving with the forward rotating inertia. She grasped the door frame for support and let out a strangled cry.

"Ronon!"

Ronon, alive and healthy, stood in the open doorway. He sprang forward and caught Cassandra by the forearms as she wheeled. Breath not coming for a moment, and then in erratic gasps, she stared at their arms. Her fingers tightened against his muscles, as if questioning whether this was a dream or hallucination. His hands responded in kind, and her eyes roved over his living face. With another cry, she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

"You're alive! But I thought … the sensors …."

"I'm alive. We're all alive. The blast was the Wraith dart. It messed up the sensors on the puddle jumper, it exploded so close." His voice softened in a mild rebuke. "We had to land for Rodney to do repairs. We made radio contact with Atlantis about an hour later."

Cassandra felt at once foolish and indignant. The memory of General Hammond coming to her door with the base chaplain had driven out all reason. She kept that episode to herself, and said instead, "For twelve years, every one of my friends and family has put themselves in harm's way on the frontline. Some of them have died multiple times. You'll understand why I'm so quick to think the worst."

She had told him this before. When Daniel Jackson died and ascended, she had been studying for finals. When General O'Neill had been stranded on an alien planet for one hundred days, she had had to go to school and give the line "My godfather is stationed abroad for while" without the hysterics that any other child of an MIA officer would have been allowed. He had seen her take hits from Bantos rods, stare down Marine Majors, argue against the IOA, and kill a Goa'uld. Through it all, she had been as steady as the best Satedan warrior. That she had lost her composure for him, Ronon Dex, felt both astounding and flattering.

"Everything is all right now."

Ronon saw her flinch, and she pulled away from him. Retreating to the seat along the window, she curled up and wrapped her arms around her knees. He followed, but kept his distance while he tired to fathom what she was thinking.

"You said 'maybe' and I didn't listen. Just like I don't listen in sparring lessons or to Jack and Sam when they tell me working for the IOA is a bad thing."

"Cassandra, what are you talking about?"

"After I killed Yami. You said _maybe_ I would be able to move on. And now … And now I know the answer for me is 'no.' No, I haven't moved on."

This was conversation was beyond Ronon. Sometime in seven years of being hunted by Wraith and hunting them back, he had found a way to deal with his past. He could see now that Cassandra had not found her own way.

"I can't do my job if I'm having flashbacks of the day my mom died and everyone on Hanka dying horrible, slow, painful deaths. I'm so happy you're alive, Ronon, and that Atlantis is going back to Pegasus. But I can't go with you."

o o o

Cassandra left Atlantis two days later after turning over her assigned work to Mr. Woolsey's new executive assistant, an IOA veteran born on Earth and with no ties to the military. Her friends gathered in the gate room to see her off and brought her lovely parting gifts: photographs, cards, Bantos rods, and an Atlantis patch she had worn on her single off world mission.

"Next time you're on Earth for some shore leave, make sure to let me know. Chicago isn't that far from Chippewa Falls," she told Jennifer as they embraced.

Rodney managed to resign himself to a hug at Jennifer's urging, but Cassandra kept it brief for his sake. John came more willingly into a parting embrace. "Tessa and I have annual Christmas parties in Colorado Springs for my mom's and her grandpa's friends at the SGC. Since you've both worked at the SGC, I expect you both to come. If you're in the Milky Way."

Teyla came forward next. "I do not know if we shall see each other again, Cassandra. I hope we do, but if we do not, then part with my good wishes for what I am sure will be a brilliant future." They touched foreheads.

Carson was already tearing up when he said his farewell, and Cassandra embraced him tightest of all because she knew he wouldn't mind. "You, also, have to let me know when you're on Earth. I don't care if I have to fly to Scotland to see you. I will."

"Oh, that is just kindest thing …."

Cassandra hugged him again to stop the tears, and Mr. Woolsey came to her rescue by stepping up to say one final goodbye. They had already said all there was to say when she had handed in her letter of resignation, and she thought they parted on good terms now.

At last, she had said goodbye to all the friends she had made in Atlantis except Ronon. Everyone moved away to give them some privacy. He kept his distance and didn't meet her eye, but Cassandra couldn't blame him. She felt small leaving this way, like she was betraying something he had tried to teach her, but she hadn't grasped. She felt also a keen loss knowing soon he would be in another galaxy and possibly out of her life forever.

"I left you something. I finally finished a drawing of Atlantis, and I thought maybe you wanted to know how I really saw the city. You asked me once …."

"I remember."

The drawing was among her finest, she thought. So full of light it looked in places half-finished where the soft shading faded into pure white paper and above the spires, a wide open sky. Though she expected no one but herself to understand, she called it _The Memory of Kites_.

"Well, then. I guess this is good-bye."

So much could be said, but nothing seemed enough. Cassandra nodded to Chuck, and a moment later, the light of an Asgard beam teleported her into her tiny apartment in Chicago.


	13. Mandala

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN  
MANDALA**

The remaining days of July flew by in a whir of activity within the city of Atlantis. Construction crews packed up their gear and departed the city after Woolsey approved all their rebuilding projects, and the additional teams of scientists shipped back to Area 51 or the SGC soon after. SG teams continued to rotate through the city to use the Stargate, but the number of security personnel slowly declined until finally only Atlantis personnel remained.

"I admit that I am quite eager to return to the Pegasus galaxy," Teyla said during a morning training session. "To the see the people and places we left behind so many months ago will be a great joy to me."

Ronon grunted a reply and seized the Bantos rods from his bag. "Are we gonna fight or what?"

The Athosian regarded him coolly for a moment before taking up her own weapons. "Of course, there are many people remaining on Earth whom I will miss dearly."

"If you want to ask about Cassandra, just ask me."

"Very well. I will just ask. How are you feeling, Ronon?"

"Fine."

Teyla gave an exasperated sigh that Jennifer always followed with the exclamation: 'Men!' Truthfully, Ronon tried not to think about Cassandra or her decision to leave too much. She had been a kind of companion he hadn't known in years. She brought out the best in him with her independence and determination. They had understood each other in ways no one else here could. But despite it all, she had left.

It was difficult when his friends brought her up, although they were careful not to dwell too much. Woolsey's new assistant constantly brought up Cassandra – how she had an 'obscure' filing system and didn't manage the schedule right and a litany of other things she thought her predecessor had done wrong. It took all his willpower – and John's direct order – not to put fear into the woman.

"I miss her. Now let's fight."

Teyla hesitated, and he saw she almost commented, but changed her mind at the last minute and took up the fighting stance. They sparred with total concentration on the Bantos rods and their rapid fire movements. It had been awhile since they had sparred against each other. Usually, Ronon practiced with Cassandra. His focus broken, he missed a parry and took a hard blow to the collar bone.

"You are getting slow," Teyla teased. "I believe even John could out fight you today."

"_Even_ John. You have really got to stop using me in that context. It's the second time in, what, two weeks?" The Colonel stood in the doorway dressed in his base uniform. "You're both off your radios. Come on. Woolsey wants one last senior staff meeting to talk about our game plan when we're back in Pegasus. Then he's going to present it to the IOA and Home World Command this afternoon."

"Is _she_ going to be there?" Ronon wanted to know.

John cringed. "I don't think Woolsey and his new assistant mesh very well. I suspect she won't be coming to Pegasus with us after all. I don't know if she'll be in the meeting, but if she is, I order you to not threaten her in any way."

"I believe that includes staring, Ronon," Teyla clarified. "You unnerved Ms. Bryce very much during her first week here."

The Satedan scoffed. "What kind of assistant is scared of staring?"

His friends wisely said nothing. Ronon and Teyla gathered up their things and followed John to the conference room. Woolsey talked with Carson and Jennifer while Rodney and Radek bickered over some calculations on a tablet computer. Woolsey's assistant was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you all for coming," Woolsey started. "I'm hoping to get feedback from all senior personnel on how your departments can contribute to the strategy Colonel Sheppard and I have devised. You'll notice that Ms. Bryce is not with us today. Sadly, she has returned to work in Washington. This is by way of saying you may speak freely in this meeting."

Rodney took over. He brought up a star map of Pegasus galaxy with four worlds highlighted in red. Ronon leaned over the table and stared closely at the planets.

"Question." Rodney looked nonplussed at being interrupted, but ceded for Ronon. "Only one of those is a Wraith world."

"I believe that was actually a statement."

Woolsey ignored Rodney and fielded the question himself. "Of course, a flaw in our plan was always that Todd might lie about the number and location of ZPMs, but we are duty bound to investigate all leads."

"So there are not ZPMs on those worlds?" Teyla asked. Ronon looked over at John, but he didn't look the least surprised or concerned at this turn of events.

"Actually, there might be ZPMs on any planet in Pegasus," Rodney said. "These four worlds are all listed in the Atlantis database, so it's possible an Ancient left one lying around."

"I am sorry, Rodney, but we have never …," Teyla trailed off. "Unless, of course, Todd was told which worlds to name in exchange for his release. And if the ZPMs happen not to be on those worlds, Atlantis will have to remain in Pegasus searching for the unaccounted for power sources before the Wraith find them."

"Devious," Radek said, with such delight it could only be meant as a compliment. "You know, I respected Cassie before I heard this plan, but now …. I am glad she is not my enemy."

Ronon felt a jolt of electricity pass up his spine as the pieces fell into place. How the IOA had been convinced to let Atlantis return … How they would be obligated to allow the city to remain …. It was Cassandra's plan.

"The fact is, we're playing the game of politics. For months, the IOA manipulated the situation to keep Atlantis on Earth. We were due our turn to manipulate it back to serve our own interests. Since our plan also benefited Home World Command, we had an extra ally to move our agenda along."

"Can I continue?" Rodney complained. "Or should we sit around all morning practicing our evil super villain laughs and holding our pinky fingers to the corners of our mouths?"

With no objections, the astrophysicists went on with his explanation. Knowing these worlds probably had no ZPMs and the whole thing was an elaborate heist with Atlantis as the prize, the senior staff found it difficult to care much about the fake plan John had probably slapped together while watching _The A-Team_.

Atlantis was going back to Pegasus. That was all that mattered.

o o o

The rumble of traffic rattled the window pane of Cassandra's third floor apartment and grated on her last nerve. Over the last eight years in Chicago, she had become accustomed to the sounds of a bustling city to the point where police sirens and protest rallies no longer disturbed her concentration. But now she missed the relative quiet of Atlantis floating on the water far removed from honking cabs and bus brakes. The low hum of the Ancient city and the constant feeling of naquadah nearby had become her preferred white noise.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, she turned her attention to the legal textbooks and class notes she had taken over the course of three years in law school. The tiny apartment was littered with paper. Cramming for the upcoming bar examinations had left a trail of briefs, notes, and case law from the kitchen to the living room and into the bedroom. Earlier that morning, she had even found a soggy judicial note stuffed into the shower caddy.

"This is ridiculous!" she shouted to the empty apartment as screeching tires distracted her from the index cards of Latin phrases she had been flipping through.

She would get nowhere studying in her apartment. Packing up all the books and notes that would fit into her backpack, she slipped into flip-flops and headed for the nearest Metra to take the train to the University of Chicago where she could find a nice, quiet library.

Even in the sweltering heat of late July, the high wind coming off Lake Michigan felt refreshing after days cooped up inside the stuffy apartment. Walking on the wide pavements with crowds of Chicagoans and tourists, Cassandra could forget about Ancient cities and bad memories. Dressed in ratty jeans and a t-shirt, walking to the beat of the song playing on her iPod, she felt like any other student during bar study.

She had just spotted the Metra sign ahead through the mass of pedestrians when a flare of lights surrounded her. Next moment, she stared out geometric windows at a star field. Her eyes flicked down to take in the blue and green planet swirling with white clouds. She twisted on her heels and smiled lopsidedly at her godmother, who sat in the command chair of the battlecruiser in orbit around Earth.

"I never had the subcutaneous transmitter removed."

"Welcome to the _George Hammond_," Sam said, by way of an answer. "I would have beamed down, but you're here on official business."

"Oh really?" Cassandra hitched her heavy backpack up higher on her shoulder. She felt out of place with the bridge crew in their flight uniforms and she in her most battered pair of jeans and sandals. "What sort of official business gets your goddaughter beamed up to your spaceship?"

"We should talk about that privately. Major Marks, you have the bridge."

Cassandra followed Sam through the wide metal corridors of the Earth battlecrusier with her sandals flopping noisily against her soles. Artificial life support and gravity made it feel as if they walked on Earth, though the overhead lights felt harsh reflecting off the polished metal surfaces. Deck crews toiled over control panels, both electrical and crystal. After what felt like a tour of the whole ship, Sam swiped her keycard at a bulkhead door and led Cassandra into a conference room with comfortable mesh desk chairs placed around a square table. Blank monitors and screens lined the room, and a wide window looked out over empty space.

Sam retrieved an SGC file folder from a locked cabinet under one of the screens. The words 'No Eyes' stamped the cover with bold red letters. Cassandra sucked in a breath. Very few people had 'No Eyes' security clearance when it came to the Stargate program. Those mission reports weren't even supposed to leave the Home World Command archives.

"Congratulations. You now have the highest security clearance known to man."

"Why?" she demanded. "I left the Stargate program, and by order of Dr. McInnis, I'm not allowed to come back until he clears me."

Sam nodded solemnly. "I know, Cassie. And we don't want to interfere with your treatment, but we think this is an integral part of your life that you should know about. We all agreed that if you know about this mission, it might help you to let go of your past and see what you're meant to do with your future."

"We?"

"Me, Jack, Daniel, and Teal'c. I'm sure that, if they were alive, General Hammond and your mom would agree too."

Cassandra wavered, but in the end she would always value the opinion of those people over any psychiatrist regardless of his credentials. Her nod let Sam know the explanation could continue.

"The contents of this mission report are classified No Eyes because it deals with the space-time continuum. This isn't an alternate reality or a timeline we've tried to change. In fact, it is classified so highly because we want it to stay exactly as is."

The younger woman felt a flutter in her stomach and her heartbeat trebled as Sam slid the folder across the table. She accepted it with shaky fingers and flipped open the cover. It began as any mission report did with a catalog number, date, and submitter's name.

"I could let you read it, but it might be simpler if I told you about this mission." Cassandra nodded and tore her eyes away from the page. Sam took a steadying breath. "In the second year of the Stargate program, we discovered the gate could be used to travel through time if the wormhole passes through a solar flare. We stepped into the event horizon in 1999 … and stepped out in 1969."

Cassandra listened in stunned silence – and vague disbelief – as Sam narrated the string of events that somehow involved her. After awhile, she began to find some humor in the story of the hippies on their way to Woodstock and the cover that SG-1 were aliens fighting 'the establishment' on their home planet. Less humorous, yet still fascinating, was the conversation with Katherine Langford and the problems with dialing the gate manually.

Her good humor faded again, however, as Sam explained how SG-1 had entered the wormhole too soon and found themselves flung far into the future. Her own name still had not come up when Sam described the elderly woman alone at Stargate Command.

"She told me come closer, and then I felt the naquadah in her blood. I recognized you. You told me that I had explained all of this to you when you were old enough to understand, and that we had to enter the wormhole immediately if we wanted to get back to 1999."

Cassandra struggled to draw breath. She felt she'd been doused with ice water. For a long minute, her mouth moved but no words came out. At last, after agonizing moments of frozen, panicked thoughts she found her voice.

"So you're saying …," she began hesitantly, her words trembling. "What _are _you saying?"

"We concluded that the Stargate was moved, but it was brought back to the SGC so we wouldn't see what Stargate operations are like in the future. That's why you where there alone and everything looked like it hadn't been used in years. The fact that you were there alone with a piece of technology as powerful as a DHD led us to believe that, in the future, you're a very influential member of the Stargate program."

"But – "

"There's more, Cassie. Think about what you do in the future. You send us back into our proper timeline. If we skip all the years we fought the Goa'uld, the Ori, the Wraith, and the Lucian Alliance …. I know it sounds arrogant, but SG-1 did a lot of good for the people of a lot of galaxies. And I don't mean to make you sound selfish, but if we aren't sent back to 1999, we won't be in your life anymore."

"Someone else could …"

"Do you want to leave it up to chance? Or do you want to take responsibility for it and have a hand in saving thousands, maybe millions, of lives?"

Cassandra pushed back her chair and walked over to the window. The reinforced glass felt cool on her palms, and the blackness of space invited her to think of nothing at all.

"I know this is a lot to take in, Cassie. We wouldn't have shared this with you now except Atlantis is leaving soon. We saw the way you fought for the crew and the Pegasus galaxy, and we all came to believe you really wanted to be there. Cassie, we've all been through horrible things, and we all worked through them differently. I can't say what's right for you, but I know that running away is not the answer for anyone."

"Running away? _Running away!_ I'm talking to Dr. McInnis, aren't I?"

"It wouldn't be the first time. When you sit in sessions with Dr. McInnis do you feel the same as when you faced down Yami? If you do, then I'll drop this right now and support you however I can. But if you're using therapy as an excuse …. I can't let you do that, Cassie. I love you too much."

Cassandra averted her eyes and swallowed thickly. "It doesn't matter either way. I've resigned, and Helen Lackey's behavior has made it clear I'll never have another position in the IOA. Home World Command doesn't need civilian lawyers, and I don't have the skill set to be an NID agent. So even though – _if_ – I used it as an excuse, it's done."

"Mr. Woolsey didn't tell the IOA you resigned."

The younger woman spun away from the window, shock written on her face. "_What?_"

"He told the IOA that you've taken a leave of absence to study for the bar examinations coming up this week. I'm told they weren't at all surprised, and Xiaoyi Shen even asked Mr. Woolsey to give you her best. She, at least, likes you." Sam rose from her chair and came to rest a comforting hand on Cassandra's shoulder. "I know this is a lot to take in, Cassie. You can stay here with me for awhile or we can beam you back to Chicago. Take the bar exam, which I know you'll do fantastic on, by the way, and think about what we've talked about."

"How long do I have?"

"Atlantis leaves in six days."


	14. The Persistence of Memory

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN  
THE PERSISTENCE OF MEMORY**

The atmosphere in the city of Atlantis crackled with barely contained excitement. Personnel had rotated out of the base regularly for the past three weeks to spend a last few days with friends and family before going back to the Pegasus galaxy. At long last, the day had arrived. They all knew they went back to a war against the Wraith, but it was a cause they had committed to long ago.

"Bringing first ZPM online," Rodney announced.

His pompous manner fitted the jittery excitement in the city today, and no one in the control room bemoaned his methods. At a side-by-side terminal, Radek monitored the power distribution levels to the star drive and shield. Woolsey stood at the front of the control room by Chuck's station observing the technicians work in tandem to prepare the city for flight.

John and Carson waited off to the side until the science team brought all three ZPMs online and prepared the star drive. Then they would go together to the chair room, John to fly the city and Carson as backup in case a security situation called the colonel away. Jennifer had arrived minutes ago to tell Woolsey the infirmary was prepared for any emergency situations, but she hovered around the periphery of the room still, curious to experience the city take flight from the control room.

"Bringing second ZPM online."

After ensuring the Athosians in the city were all safe in their quarters, Teyla and Ronon joined their friends in the control room. They, most of all, anticipated this day when they would return to their home galaxy. The flight would take weeks – Woolsey decided against using the dangerous wormhole drive – but they were going back.

"Bringing third ZPM online."

The city hummed with full power running through the energy conduits. A cheer went up in the control room and echoed through radios as science teams throughout the city read the news on their computer terminals.

"Chuck, please patch me into city-wide communications." Chuck paused over the laptop connected to the Ancient systems console as a fresh screen popped up. "Is there a problem?"

"No, sir, but I'm getting a request from the _George Hammond_ in orbit to activate two Asgard beams into the city."

John crossed the control room in long strides and spoke softly to Woolsey. "The IOA wouldn't change their mind at the eleventh hour …?" The expedition leader also looked unsure, but he nodded to Chuck.

"Beaming into the control room," Chuck announced.

All eyes focused on the balcony overlooking the gate room where the brilliant light of the beam materialized a figure. When the light cleared, Cassandra stood facing her friends and colleagues in the control room. She wore her base uniform and offered them a tight, yet warm, smile before turning to Mr. Woolsey. Her boss looked taken aback by her unexpected appearance, but regained his composure quickly.

"I trust the bar examinations went well, Cassandra."

"Yes, very well, Richard."

The smallest of approving smiles crept into the corner of his mouth. "And the second Asgard beam?"

"Transporting my belongings to my quarters."

"If everything is in order, and we're not missing any more personnel, let's proceed. Colonel Sheppard, Dr. Beckett, if you would make your way to the chair room. Dr. McKay, Dr. Zelenka, prepare to bring the star drive online."

On their way out of the control room, John and Carson welcomed Cassandra back.

"It's good to see you again, Cassie. That woman who took over while you were gone: insufferable."

Carson agreed, "Aye. She was a bit … tetchy."

Jennifer gave Cassandra a tight embrace, and even without his girlfriend's prompting, Rodney also welcomed her. "It is nice to have someone in the administration who really appreciates the value of my work and doesn't undermine me by submitting reports full of derisive comments to the IOA."

"It would be nice to have that on the science team," Radek muttered. "It is very good to see you again, _bludný děvče_."

Teyla bent her head to touch foreheads, and Cassandra responded likewise. "As the others have said, I am greatly pleased to see you again, my friend. My people will be equally happy for the opportunity to show you Athosian hospitality."

With all of her closest friends greeted and going about their work again, Cassandra turned to Ronon. A mask of indifference had fallen over his features, and he was as hard to read as he had been when they first met months ago. Steeling herself for whatever came, she approached him and asked quietly.

"Can we talk alone?"

She feared he would refuse, but he turned and led a path through the control room to the balcony beyond the stained glass door. Moisture clogged the air outside, but a steady ocean breeze swirled around the spires of Atlantis. She could see that he wasn't going to make this easy for her by his withdrawn posture and closed expression.

"I found out some interesting things while I was gone. Like the fact that everyone who has ever known me thinks I have a tendency to bury my head in the sand. That's an Earth phrase, I don't know if you …. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is: I thought I belonged on Earth, but that was just an excuse to avoid a much more difficult calling. I'm meant to be in the Stargate program, and I'm made to fight injustice wherever I see it."

"And that's in Pegasus?"

Cassandra felt so relieved to hear him speak and not sound furious at her that she almost laughed out loud with giddy happiness. "Yes. I'm back to fight for all the humans in the Pegasus galaxy just like the SGC fought for all the humans in the Milky Way."

Silence settled over them, not quite as companionable as before. She knew they had one issue yet unresolved.

"Ronon, are we okay?"

"I left Atlantis once, but things weren't what they seemed, so I came back. I can't really say anything since I did it too."

Cassandra crossed the space between them and leaned against the railing with her back to the ocean. She had missed his closeness, and though she would never have taken any job she didn't want for a man, she couldn't deny how wonderful it felt just to be near him.

"That's good. Not exactly what I meant, though."

Daring to be bold, she wrapped her fingers around the necklaces dangling at his chest. It was a familiar, intimate gesture that he recognized and responded to. She didn't have to tug to pull him down to meet her lips. The kiss was all his doing.

o o o

Cassandra reclined with her head on Ronon's shoulder. Outside the window, the elongated light of passing stars streamed over the city's cloak as blue streaks. This had been the view from every window and balcony of the city for eight days.

She stared at the drawing, _The Memory of Kites_, he had propped up on his nearly empty bookshelf where he stored his weapons. Knowing him as she did, she understood what a place of honor he had given her drawing.

"I get it, you know," he said. She raised her head and peered up into his green eyes. He must have read the doubt on her face. "You told me about your dream, and you talk about kites in your sleep. Your dream, it's not really a dream, is it?"

She shook her head. "I didn't know that, though, when I told you about it. It's funny how that dream is actually a memory, but it's the most symbolic dream I've ever had."

This was outside Ronon's realm of usual conversation, so Cassandra let it drop easily. It wasn't something she wanted to dwell on anyway. She would dream about kites her whole life, but she thought less so now that she had a future to look forward to instead of only a past to run from. They sat in comfortable silence, Cassandra staring at her drawing and Ronon nodding off.

John's voice crackling over the radio brought them back to reality. "_Ronon, it's time._"

"Time for what?" Cassandra asked.

"You'll see. Come on."

On the way through the city to wherever Ronon was leading her, Cassandra felt Atlantis drop out of hyperspace. No alarms or announcements followed as she would have expected. Instead, everyone they passed in the corridors continued working as if nothing unexpected had happened.

"What's going on? Why did we drop out of hyperspace?"

Ronon paused in front of an automatic door that opened onto a balcony high on one of the eastern towers – or what had been an east tower when the city was on Earth. She followed him into the open air beneath the city's faintly glowing blue shield. All the around, the sky was blank and black.

"We're in the void between the Milky Way and Pegasus," she observed.

Gently, Ronon took her shoulders in his hands and turned her around. She gasped. Cassandra gazed across the vastness of space at the beautiful galaxy before her. Like a blue splash of paint on a black canvas, it was a work of art on a cosmic scale. If she spent the rest of her life hovering between the galaxies, she would never tire of gazing at Pegasus.

"You're seeing Pegasus for the first time. What do you think?"

She hardly had the words to describe the inspiring splash of color, so she said the only one that sprang to mind.

"Kites."

**THE END**


End file.
